A Colorful Array of Emotions
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: Unrelated drabbles set to the theme of each color of the rainbow interpreted as a different emotion. VR slash. Last: After being taken over by Brainiac, Richie has a bout of post-traumatic stress, but Virgil is there to get him back on his feet again.
1. Magenta Labels Embarrassment

**A/N: I told myself that I'd wait until all of these were finished... but I can never keep promises like that to myself. I get too excited. XD  
So here's a new story for you... and a new category for me. I've never written Static before; I used to watch it all the time as a kid, and it came back for a while on random channels, and now that it's on Disney XD and I can record the episodes to watch them again, I've become re-obsessed. And I found a new shounen-ai (boy-love) pairing to adore: Virichie~!**

**Inspired by: emif(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/In-the-Summertime-20507773**

* * *

_.:Magenta Labels Embarrassment:._

It's times like these that Richie regrets not applying sun block. He's grateful that, unlike his close-minded father, he doesn't burn. But what he does get, much like his mother, are random collections of pigments known to everyone else on the beach as 'freckles'.

By the end of the day, he's covered in them. Sprinkled across his nose, dotting his shoulders, adorning his arms, and mapping his shoulder blades. Wherever the sun hits, another spouts. Some as dark as chocolate, others as light as a redhead's hair. It depends on the sun exposure. Nonetheless, each and every little dot is annoying as hell.

And his best friend loves to make them all the more annoying.

"Heh heh, nice _beauty marks_, Rich."

"Shove it, Virg." He hates that term; it makes the teeny specks sound repulsively girly. Which is Virgil's intent, no doubt.

"Hey, I wonder if we can count them all!" the mocha-skinned teen jokes as the entire Hawkins family (plus Richie) piles into the car to ride home. He lands in the car seat beside the nerdy boy and throws his seatbelt on, the lock clicking into place beside Richie's hand.

He reaches over to poke one on his wrist. "One."

"Don't even start, V-man," Richie warns, his eyes contracting in irritation over the rim of his glasses.

"Two," Virgil continues as he jabs at one on the junction between Richie's forearm and bicep. "Three," he continues quickly with another prod, this time touching a freckle on his friend's should. "Four, five, six!" The part-time superhero goes on, purposely ignoring the evident threat in Richie's eyes as he lightly taps the paler boy's cheek, neck, and collar bone.

A steady rise in heat swarms Richie's face and scorches his ears. For a passing moment, he's grateful that Sharon and Mr. Hawkins are too busy packing up the car full of their beach gear to witness the exposure of his inner embarrassment at Virgil's touch.

"I mean it, Virgil, don't."

"Why not? It's funny trying to count them all! You have so many," the other replies as he gives a curt laugh. He touches three on the visible skin of Richie's thigh, just below where his still-damp swimming trunks end. "Seven, eight, nine."

The blond bats the dark fingers away, and to hide the increase of magenta, he brings his opposite hand up to adjust his glasses from their sweat-slipping position on the bridge of his nose.

Virgil seems to find this amusing. Smirking slightly, he dives in and touches as many as he can see. He uses as many fingers as possible, and rattles off the numbers as he tickles Richie's sides and arms. "Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen!"

Richie's laughing wholeheartedly now, his weaker hands trying to push his best friend away, but to no avail. He blubbers the word 'stop,' a few times as well, and finally, after reaching twenty-nine, Virgil pulls away.

"You jerk," the blond grumbles with a soft smile as he lifts his glasses to wipe a tear from his eye.

Virgil flashes Richie his infamous Static-Shock-just-owned-you grin. "I still have a lot more to count, you know."

His flush never waning, and somehow managing to only grow stronger, Richie replaces his glasses and unbuckles himself. "In that case, I'm sitting in back where you can't reach me."

"Aw, and how is that fun?" Virgil whines with mock complaint. Meanwhile, his friend is moving to the back of the vehicle.

"For you? It's not. But man, it sure is fun for me to watch you pout the rest of the way home."

"I'm not going to pout," the mocha-skinned teen sniffs in protest as he faces forward and crosses his arms over his white t-shirt.

"Sure you're not," the other replies sarcastically. He buckles himself into the middle back seat.

Virgil suddenly turns around to face him, a know-it-all smile plastered on his face. "You're right, Rich. I'm not gonna pout about you switching seats in the same way that that's not a blush on your face, but sunburn instead."

Richie's eyes widen for a minute as he turns from a fading pink and back into a radiant magenta. He runs a hand through his hair as he glances out the window, part of him wondering of Virgil knows about his crush on his best friend. Hopefully not.

Satisfied with the reaction he spurred, Virgil turns back around and greets his older sister as she hops into the passenger's seat. "Heya Sharon, are we ready to go?"

With the loud slam of the car door, his father sticks his keys into the ignition. He answers his son question before his daughter does. "Yes, we are. So let's get moving; I don't want to get into the height of traffic."

With one glace through the mirror, Sharon frowns in confusion. "Why are you sitting all the way back there, Richie?"

Virgil decides to steal the answer much like how his father had seconds ago. "He doesn't like his freckles counted," he states with a chuckle, as if this explains everything.

The blond boy snorts, thankful that his blush is finally gone. "What he means is: I don't like my personal space invaded for stupid reasons."

Sharon clearly still feels out of the loop, but she shrugs it off with a tilt of her head and the placing of her sunglasses. "Whatever you say."


	2. Red Reveals Rage

**A/N: This veers off from the canon a little bit, in the sense that I changed how Virgil's dad finds out about his son's powers, and stuff like that. But it's a good change; at least I think so. (It's more dramatic! YAY! X'D #shot# )**

_

* * *

_

_.:Red Reveals Rage:._

There will always be foes.

Mainly Metahuman foes, Bang Baby foes, all of which are criminals that a certain teenaged superhero duo will be forced to face. On occasion, it'll be another foe, like a human one or a famous one from another city, much like when the Joker was involved. But usually it's the same handful of foes, like Ebon and Hotstreak and Puff and Onyx and Ferret and Shiv and everyone else within their league.

As much as the duo realizes this, as much as they know that fighting and agony are unavoidable, they can't help but react when their partner gets hurt.

One instance of this occurred during a battle against the ever-temperamental pyromaniac Hotstreak, whom, for once, decided to team up with someone: the ever-insane, weapon-generating Shiv.

It was two on two, and it seemed fair enough. Static Shock had his electricity, Hotstreak his fire; Gear his gadgets and smarts, Shiv his shape shifting hands. One would fight the other, and one would be the victor in the end. If the bad guys won, they got away with jewels they could sell. If the good guys won, they would be doing Dakota a favor by getting the two mad teens off the streets.

Unfortunately, things became a bit… _tense._

Shiv snickered as one hand became a mace and the other a long blade, and he clanked the together and swung them around Gear's flying form.

When he could, Static shot a ray of purplish-white electricity in Shiv's direction to stun him, or attempt to, in order to buy his partner more time. But he couldn't do this often enough, because Hotstreak was persistent.

"Stop ignoring me, you pussy! Fight me like a man!"

"How can I fight you like a man, _Frannie_, when all I see in front of me is a dirty-mouthed little boy?" Static smirked in reply as he swerved out of the way of a fireball while he balanced atop his disc.

Hotstreak growled at the remark and blasted himself into the air. He chanced landing badly on the street below as he leapt towards Static. He caught the black teen's ankles as his trajectory threw him at the edge of the disc. "Don't you fucking dare call me Frannie! My grandma used to call me that, and I fucking hated it!"

Static sent a surge of electricity to his feet, causing Hotstreak to grunt in pain and relinquish his hold. "Man, there's that mouth of yours again. You gotta watch that language, Francis."

As Hotstreak caught himself from hitting the ground with a tuck and a roll, he furiously punched the air, sending a massive wave of flames up at his opponent. The fire licked at the metal of Static's disc, and scorched the soles of his shoes. "Hey, watch the shoes! These aren't cheap, you know."

"It's that kind of shit you say that makes me want to wring your neck, Static!" the redhead bellowed.

Static shrugged. "Sorry, I'll be sure to keep my mouth shut next time," he laments with false sincerity as he swoops down to build a cage of electric charge around the villain's body. "In the meantime, why don't you chill out while I take care of Shiv?"

Grinding his teeth, Hotstreak didn't even bother to make another crude remark. Instead, he slashed through the cage with a high swing of his arm, a fiery sword clutched in his hand. The cage broke apart, the purplish-white electrical current broken. He charged, head-first, into Static's retreating back, which he was glad wasn't high in the air, but walking on the ground like a normal human being.

The dark-skinned teen let out a yelp as he was tackled to the ground, scorching hot hands searing his throat. Forced to look up in at attempt to keep his breathing regular, Static saw upside-down images rushing past him in a blur of color. One of them was green, and he knew that it was Gear. The other was dressed in darker clothing, and vaguely he saw a flash of purple; Shiv.

Thinking quickly, Static boosted his kneecaps (hey, a new trick!) with enough of a spark to successfully knee/shock Hotstreak in the groin. The redhead groaned in pain and temporarily doubled over onto the ground. But it was an adequate amount of time that allowed Static to rush over to where the other two were battling it out. He hoped that he could assist his superhero partner before things got too series since, everyone knew, Shiv was a raving lunatic with weaponry.

"You know, you're pretty good for a nerd in a helmet," Shiv cackled as he jabbed at Gear. "But all that armor must be heavy, right? Maybe I should lighten the load for you by gutting you open like a can of tuna!"

"Um, dude? That's sick," Gear retorted with a frown as he chucked one of his newer zap caps at the Metahuman. "I'm not a condensed dead fish."

"You will be when I'm through with you! HYAH!" And he flew into the air, and he came down hard, too hard. Gear couldn't get out of the way fast enough, which lead to his demise.

Shiv's blade broke through the armor on Gear's shoulder, cutting deeply into the soft flesh beneath. The genius let out a roar, blood welling and dripping quickly down the blade and his clothing.

Not even caring that what he was going to say might blow their cover, Static screamed 'Richie!' at the top of his lungs. He watched the blond crumble to his knees, his gloved hand clutching his shoulder as blood poured through his fingers.

Then, Static turned his eyes on Shiv, who was staring at the blood on his blade and laughing, laughing, even laughing as the blade became a human hand again, stained red.

"_I'll kill you!_" Static burst out, rage turning his insides into a blue fire so hot that it froze his bones. A shudder ran through him, sparks lighting his steps and fingertips and ends of his dreadlocked hair. He stomped towards the Metahuman, and watched as Shiv laughed until tears came down his cheeks. The second his fist hand made contact with Shiv's jaw, the bastard stopped laughing. He was flung a good seven or eight feet, sparks flying in every which direction.

No one hurt his best friend. _No one._ No one made the poor genius spill his own blood, and then_ laugh _about it. That was just… just… _horribly wrong._

So Static used his powers to lift the twisted Metahuman off the ground, and pin him to a nearby brick wall. He pinned him, held him there, as he stepped closer and closer, the charge increasing with every step the point where Shiv's hair began to stand stiffly in the air. "H-hey… c-c'mon, man, I-I didn't mean it… let me go…" the pathetic worm pleaded, but Static wasn't hearing any of it.

"You _put_ a _gash _in his _shoulder,_" he ground out between clenched teeth as he came dangerously close to Shiv. His black-gloved hand shook wildly out of both sheer fury and an overload of electricity. Behind him, he could hear his friend let out a small protest, and he could hear Hotstreak running away, jewelry jingling with every scuff of his baggy pants and old shoes on the pavement. "Oh no you don't!" he barked, his head jerking to the side as he threw his other hand in Hotstreak's direction and tossed the red-haired teen against the same wall Shiv was currently occupying. "Drop the jewels," he said darkly.

Hotstreak obeyed without hesitation, evident fear with no way out written across his face.

"Now then," he said in a low voice, "You're both going to spend a nice, long time in jail after the police catch you. While you wait here, I'm going to take Ri- Gear to a hospital."

He would rather not do this, though. He would rather give Shiv an equal – if not worse – gash, simply to make him know what he was making Richie feel at the moment. But Virgil resisted, because he was Virgil, and he was Static, and that made him an honorable son and a merciful superhero, even if he didn't want to be. Even if, in the pit of his stomach, maggots were squirming, thirsty for revenge.

_Because nobody wounded the one person who meant the most to him in his life besides his mother and father and sister. _He already lost one of those people, and by God, he wasn't going to lose Richie, too.

Turning on his heel and marching away from the hanging criminals, Static made his way over to his friend, whom was curled on his side and still clutching his shoulder to stop the blood flow. Above him, Backpack tried to tear off a piece of his costume to use as a tourniquet, but his costume wasn't of the correct material to do so.

"Deactivate, Backpack," Static murmured to the machine. "I got this."

"Well, this beats getting shot in the leg," Gear choked out, a bit of blood trailing down his neck and leaking into his helmet.

Not caring who saw (although there wasn't really anyone left; they all ran when the fight first began about twenty minutes ago), Virgil yanked off Gear's mask, revealing Richie's sweating, pain-contorted face. He shook off his jacket and wrapped it around the white teen, making sure to tie it especially tight around the wound. Then, ignoring the protests that came with it, scooped Richie off the ground bridal-style, idly reminding him of over a year ago when Richie got powers from Ragtag, but when he lost the powers the first time around, fell to quickly to the ground that Virgil had to catch him before he got hurt.

"V, you don't have to carry me," Richie rasped out.

"Just until we get you to the hospital," Virgil answered gently as he summoned his discarded disc with a twitch of the fingers under Richie's knees. "It's not that far."

He sat down on the disc after lowering it to the ground. Then, slowly but then with gaining speed, the two rose into the air and surfed the sky as they approached the hospital.

"For a minute there," Richie said along the way, "I thought you were going to murder Shiv."

"For a minute there," Virgil agreed, "So did I."

There was a pause as they were lowered to the front doors of the hospital, and, acting as Static, he burst in and called for immediate assistance.

"How are we going to explain this one?" the genius fret as he was laid onto a rolling cot, his African American friend trailing beside him, hands resting on the lowered rails.

"I don't think we can hide who you are now," Virgil sighed as a doctor brought them into the ER. "The doctors have to know who they're treating, and your parents have to know how you were injured. It sucks, Rich, but it's true."

"Just, for once…" Richie paused to wince as the doctors removed the jacket and fresh blood seeped sticky warmth onto his back, "I'd like to get a break, y'know?"

Any remaining shreds of anger melted into concern in Virgil's nearly black eyes. "I know, man. I know." He watched as Richie's eyes shut and his brows relaxed as he fell unconscious from blood loss.

"I'm sorry, Static, but we're going to have to ask you to leave now," a nurse said beside him.

"Yeah," he sighed as he ran a hand through his dreadlocks. "But could you do me a favor? Come and get me as soon as he's ready for visitors again. I'll be in the waiting room."

The nurse smiled softly at the teen hero. "Of 'course."

As he walked back into the public eye, Virgil's pace turned turtle-slow as an ashen-colored sense of grief and anxiety swept over him, paired with the gnawing craving for vengeance. He stuffed the latter down, but the other two overtook him. He fell into the nearest seat, which happened to be an empty waiting bench. He imagined stitches and a scar on his dear friend, gruesome black stitches and a fleshy pink scar that would constantly remind Virgil of how he failed to reach him in time to protect him.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath as he pounded his fist into the bench. The cushion wheezed out a puff of air through a slice of exposed foam. Static proceeded to tear off his bloody gloves (_Richie's blood, proof that he couldn't save him _yet again_, just like when Jimmy brought that stupid handgun to the center_) and shove his hands in his hair, his fingertips pressing painfully into his scalp. But he didn't cry. No, he would save that for the guilt trip he knew he would be hurling himself into when he got home later and curled into a ball on his bed.

"Static?" a voice sounded after what felt like an hour passed. His head shot up to find Richie's parents were in front of him, along with his own family. The voice had come from Sharon. "What are you doing here?"

"There's something you need to know," he said carefully, a deep breath being taken as he straightened from his hunched position and prepared to spill the beans about Gear being Richie, and how he couldn't get to him in time, and what a dirty bastard Shiv was.

But it was then that a nurse – the same one that had promised she'd get Static when Richie was allowed to have visitors – emerged from the ER proclaiming, "The parents of Richard Foley may see him, now."

"What about me? Can I come in, too?" Virgil said as he jumped to his feet. The Foley and Hawkins families shot him a bizarre look, not at all understanding why Static would want to see this specific citizen of Dakota.

The nurse sighed. "I'm sorry, Static, but not right now."

He sat back down, his face devoid of emotion. "Alright."

While the Foleys walked back through the swinging doors with the nurse, the teen hero's father and sister sat down beside him. "What's going on here?" his father asked. "All we got was a call from the Foleys, asking if my son was home because his friend had been sent into the ER."

"It was my fault," Static said slowly, tears stinging the back of his eyes. He sucked in air to hold the tears back. "His parents are probably finding this out right now, but Richie is… my partner, Gear. He was injured during a fight with some Bang Baby criminals. I… I couldn't protect him," he told them cautiously. He knew that this would be one giant regret later on, telling everyone Gear's secret identity. But if they could get the doctors and nurses to sign one of those confidential contracts stating that they aren't allowed to tell the press about this, and if Sharon can keep her big mouth shut (including to her boyfriend, Adam, a.k.a. Rubberband Man), the maybe this won't be _entirely_ regretful.

"I'm sure you did your best," Sharon whispered quietly in comfort. Then, she added, "Baby brother."

Static's head shot in her direction, as did his father's. His father looked back at him, and studied him through the white mask. "Virgil?"

Sighing in defeat (because he should have known that his sister would have been able to put two and two together eventually), Static briefly lifted his mask to the two, being careful not to let it show to anyone else in the room. "Yeah, it's me. I'm sorry I've kept the secret for so long, but I thought that if you knew, you wouldn't let me be a hero anymore."

His father looked like he was about to exclaim, 'you're damn right!' in his face, but soon his features were softening and he was removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. The older man cleared his throat and said, "No, I would never do that, son. Your mother was a hero, constantly putting herself in danger for others, and if you're one of the Metahumans that decided to use your abilities for the same reason, then I couldn't be more proud. I also couldn't be more relieved, because at least now I know where you've been running off to all this time."

Shocked (no pun intended), Virgil blinked. "For real?"

He father offered a small smile. "Yes."

Sharon was smiling as well, and suddenly, Virgil didn't feel the rage or regret or guilt (at least not as heavily; the guilt was lingered to an extent). He also felt as though he should have told his family much, much sooner.

"Static," came a feminine voice, and the teenager turned to find the same nurse peeking out form behind the ER doors, "You can come see the patient now. You're allowed in as well, Mr. and Miss Hawkins."

"Come on," his father said warmly as he put an arm around his daughter, "Let's go see how Richie is doing."


	3. An Orange Rush of Giddiness

**A/N: I have but one comment: _huhuhuhuhu~_**

* * *

_.:An Orange Rush of Giddiness:._

Blossoming from the inside of me and growing outward, I feel my heart fluttering like an orange marigold in the summer wind. This weird giddy sensation zips through me, my already electric body soaring to new heights.

I can't believe how damn good this feels, even though my head is telling me that it's wrong, and a tiny voice is reminding me that things could become potentially dangerous if I'm not careful. But I'm a pretty reckless person at times, so since when do I care about being careful?

…See, this all started when my best bud Richie came over, like he always does on Fridays. We usually meet at my house for some well-earned down time, although we keep the frequencies on his Backpack open in case of emergency; 'it never hurts to be prepared,' he says.

On this particular Friday, I noticed that he was acting a little strange the second he walked in through my front door. When we got up into my room, Richie automatically suggested a new video game that he bought. But I wasn't buying the distraction, so I asked him what was up.

"Yo, Rich, is something wrong? You seem a bit... I dunno, _off_?"

"Nothing's wrong, V," he reassured me, but the nervous adjustment to the frame of his glasses told me otherwise. He picked up one of my game controllers. "You want first pick?"

Frowning to myself, I decided not to press the matter. I took his offer and chose my game character first, and we got playing. But the weird part was, he didn't lean all over the place while playing like he usually does. In a normal situation, we'd both be swinging our controllers all over the place, as if the controllers had motion sensors. Only this wasn't a normal situation. Richie sat almost completely still, with the exception of his occasionally wriggling toes in his socks. I pretended not to notice, but it was really bugging me. I mean, Richie isn't the type of person to hold things in; that's actually one of his flaws, seeing as how he once told the girls (meaning Frieda and Daisy) about a certain Backstreet Boy being in town when he wasn't supposed to.

But this felt different. It felt like he was keeping some other secret inside, a bad secret. The sort of secret that he would want to tell me but doesn't know how to address it. Which is stupid, since he's got more genius in that muddled head of his than Thomas Jefferson, Albert Einstein, and Benjamin Franklin combined. And then some!

After one game, I couldn't take it anymore. I sighed, hit 'start' (which doubles as 'pause'), and looked the blond in the eye. "Man, I don't like how you're sittin' there all silent and brooding. Just what is up with you, huh? I know when something's changed in you, Richie. So the sooner you spit it out, the better."

He tossed down his controller with a sigh similar to mine, except his sounded more reluctant. "You know how my brain is always going fifty miles an hour with at least three different things at once?"

I tilted my head toward my shoulder, like a half-nod, half-shrug. "Yeah, so? You're a genius, of 'course your head's gonna be running a triathlon. Most of it is probably about new blueprints for gadgets and Nobel-Prize-level math equations, right?"

"Almost," he replied lowly. He wasn't looking at me very much, and I distantly wondered why. "I think about other stuff too." He paused as he leaned back on his hands, his nails digging into my carpet. "Personal things."

"Like what? C'mon, bro, you can tell me anything; you know that." I prodded as I sat back and pretzel'd my legs.

"I know, Virg, but this is… er, different."

"Why?" I asked, my confused frown back in place. "Look, I can understand that some things are better left unsaid, but you can at least give me a hint or an explanation or _something._"

He ran a hand through his blond spikes, his fingers stopping to scratch the side of his head for a moment. "I don't see why you're freaking about this. Can't we just let it go and continue our game?"

"Nuh-uh, you're not pulling that one on me," I disagreed as I shook my head. "I'm too smart for that, and you know it. I also don't see why you thought I wouldn't notice the second you walked in; I'm not always oblivious, you know." I pointed a finger in his direction. "And I'm not freaking; you're the one going on the defense. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you! It's what friends do, Rich."

"Maybe my problem is that I don't want to be friends, Virgil," he snapped so quickly that I nearly didn't catch it. He looked at me then, his gaze remaining defensive, but not angry. There was something else there, something gentler than defense. It was the way his eyebrows angled upward a bit between his eyes, and the way he blinked, like he was trying not to let his eyes water up.

But his words were stronger than the message on his face. I blinked hard in alarm. "What…? Why, what did I do?" I snapped back, although I also wasn't angry. I was hurt, because I didn't like hearing those words. Not again, not after so many fights we've had. I don't like it when we fight, and I don't think he does either. So what did I do recently that might've made him want to ditch me? I needed to know.

"It's not something you did," he answered, his tone unreadable. Then, softer, he added, "It's all me."

I leaned towards him, my hand falling on his shoulder. I peered at his face, which looked hazy with uncertainty. "What d'ya mean, Rich? You haven't done anything," I told him, because it was true. Even after all the shit we've been through together, there hasn't been a single thing he's done that I haven't been able to forgive or reason out his logic behind, if I thought about it enough to see his side.

He sighed again, his shoulder relaxing under my hand. "You're too nice sometimes, V."

"Well, I have to be," I chuckle was I remove my hand and scoot closer to his side. "I'm a superhero, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," he said, a slight grin in his tone. But it quickly faded. "Look, what's bothering me isn't all that important right now, 'kay? I'll, uh, tell you when I'm ready."

I raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what that was supposed to be code for, but I shrugged. "Alright, that's cool with me. Just promise that you _will _tell me eventually."

"I promise," he swore, his tone slightly more confident. He lifted his fist, waiting for me to knock it with my own. As I did, he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was one of those closed-lipped smiles, the kind you know are sincere, even though they're forced.

Somehow, I think it was that smile that broke my resolve to drop the topic.

I groaned. "Dammit, Richie, don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Smile like that! It annoys me when you try to cover up with that stupid fake-ass smile. Now I _really _know that something's wrong, and I want to know what it is. Badly."

"…You can tell that it's fake?" he asked, sounding genuinely impressed.

"_Yes,_ I can, because you're my best friend, and sometimes I feel like I know you better than I know myself," I answered with a cross of my arms. "And I gotta say, I know the difference between all of your smiles, bro."

"Wow, Virg… that's kinda amazing."

I lifted a brow as I uncrossed my arms. "And why's that?"

"Because half the time I can't quite tell what my own smiles mean," he said with a mini-shrug. "But I can always distinguish yours."

For some reason, I laughed at that. I dunno, it just seemed so lame. I know I was the one who, not five seconds before this, said that I know him better than I know myself at times, but I didn't know that it worked both ways. So even Richie doesn't know his own expressions at times, huh? And yet he knows mine? To me, that's damn funny.

There was a temporary frown on Richie's brows, and he looked like he was going to hit me for laughing, since he was being utterly serious. But then he burst into laughter and joined me. We kept laughing, even though it wasn't _that_ funny, because it was one of those moments when the person's giddiness triggers your own, over and over in a never-ending cycle, until one of you decides to end it.

We fell against each other, shoulder bumping shoulder, one head rested on the other, still hysterical. It was weird, because Richie felt cooler than my own burning skin, and yet you couldn't see the flush on my face as plain as you could see it on his. I know, because the small mirror in my room was within my line of vision. I noticed, suddenly, how good we looked together, like we were meant to be partners in anti-crime, and as close as family.

Weird part is, I never really thought of him as the blood-relative sort of family. I call him 'bro', mainly out of street habit, but to me, Richie is different than a brother. First of all, he ain't the black-brother kind of brother, since he obviously ain't black. Second of all, there's something deeper there. Something that doesn't feel like sibling rivalry when we argue, or brotherly love when we sling an arm over the other's shoulder. At least, not to me. Naw, there was something else there, but I can't quite put my electric-charged finger on it.

I broke the chain of laughter off somewhere between my thought process of 'second of all' and 'naw'. Richie giggled a millisecond longer before falling silent like me. He pulled away and looked at me dead-on, the most he's looked at me since he came over. "Now what's tickin' in that noggin of yours?"

I blinked out of my thoughts and returned his gaze. I smiled. "Nothin' special, man; I was just short of an epiphany, that's all. I'm missing a quarter of it."

"How can you only half three-quarters of an epiphany?" he teased, a truer grin on his lips.

I snorted. "Easy for you to say; you're the one with the mega-brain that gets brain blasts."

The blond let out a short chuckle in agreement. "Touché," he amended. Then, he posed, "Mind giving me the four-one-one on your partial epiphany?"

Now it was my turn to try and shoo the spotlight from it's place on me. "Nah, I think it'd be better if I, uh, told you when I have the full thing."

"Oh?" Richie puzzled out, his eyebrows rising in interest. "First me, now you?"

"Hey, at least I'm not Mr. Doom-and-Gloom about it," I retorted. I picked my controller up from it's dormant place on the floor. "Speaking of doom, how 'bout you meet yours? Let's play this next round in competitive mode," I said in an attempt to change subjects. I couldn't tell him what I was thinking; knowing how my mouth works, it'll come out sounding completely opposite of what I mean, whatever it is that I mean.

It was around here that things started to get out of control.

"Come on, V, just tell me! I'm sure it's not nearly half as bad as what I have brewing in my own head," Richie insisted as he scrambled to take the video game controller from my hands.

I tugged on it, wrenching my body to get it out of his grasp. But his nimble fingers plucked it away and dropped it on the floor, leaving us a bit too close for comfort. I stared at him, my ears warm. There's been plenty of times when we got in each other's faces, but not like this. I could see the lightest of freckles across his nose, and a minute sheen of sweat at his hairline.

"It's possible that we're thinking the same thing, and are too afraid of the other's reaction to tell each other," he mumbled, his tone dead serious.

Suddenly nervous, I leaned backward and rubbed the base of my neck. "Jeez, Richie, why do you have to be right all the time?"

His chin lifted slightly. "So I _am_ right? Funny, 'cause I was bluffing."

"Well, your bluff worked," I grumbled. I really didn't want to be having this conversation. "But it doesn't matter, 'cause since we're too afraid, then –"

"Virgil," he cut me off. "We can't do this, 'round in circles. So I got an idea: we'll write down our thoughts and let the other person read them. What way, we don't have to say it," he suggested.

I swallowed unsurely, but it made sense to me. Exhaling, I complied. "Yeah, alright, we'll do that."

I reached over to my desk and dragged out two pieces of paper, two binders, and a pen and pencil. I handed Richie the pencil, since I know he erases a lot, and gave him one of the binders, the paper sitting on top. He took it and scooted away from me to lean against the side of my bed to write.

I felt a little stupid, like I was writing a letter or in a journal. But hey, if this is how I was going to get things off my chest, then I was willing to do it.

With more scribble-outs then I would like, I wrote in a hasty ramble:

_It's hard to explain, Rich. You know how some people say that there's a fine line between friendship and romance? How, in some cases, when you're with someone long enough… I dunno, you just come to accept and love everything about that person? You know them so well that there are times when you finish their sentences, or say the same thing at the same exact time, or you just look at them and think, 'Man, they gotta be my twin or something.' But maybe it's not so much of a twin-brother thing as it is a soul mate thing. It sounds a little kooky when I put it that way, but I guess it's true. I mean, it's not like I've ever thought another guy before, and I like girls, sure, but then there's you. I'm never gonna find someone else quite like you, and it's crazy because I don't think I want to. God, I don't even know what I'm saying. I suppose you could say that, a few moments ago, my full epiphany was this: I think of you as family, but not the kind of family you grow up with. More like the kind of family that you meet and want to have a life with. The kind of family that gets sworn in, not born in. Shit, that sounds really gay. I'm sorry. I think I'm just going to end it there. Please don't wig out when you're done reading this. If you can, still spend the night like we were planning, 'cause I would hate it if you walked out on me after I just kinda spilled my guts onto this shitty piece of paper._

I really didn't know where my mind went, but after quickly scanning it over when it was done, I found that every word was solidly true. There wasn't a single thing there that I didn't mean with all my heart. It was full of things I've been somewhat suppressing for a long time now, things I've been trying to be in denial about. The kind of family I was referring to, as cheesy as it is, is the kind of family called a spouse, or life-partner, or whatever term you wanna use. It's lame, and silly for me to think that way about my best friend, but it's true.

I love Richie, and don't ever want to be without him. I need him. When I went to the future due to that small accident with Batman and Robin, and when I met my older self, I was secretly more than glad that Static and Gear were still partners. I was a little shocked to hear that I had a son, though; I vaguely wondered who the mother was, because even at the time I started having my doubts about my feelings for Daisy. I didn't ask, though, and I didn't think that the new Batman would know anyway.

"Okay, I'm done," I said as I lifted my head and looked at the whiz-kid. He was studying me, his head cocked to the side. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing, it just took you a while, that's all. And you kept scribbling."

Come to think of it, I didn't hear his pencil rub the paper, not once. Oh well, maybe I don't have my thoughts as well sorted as he does.

I folded my paper in half. "Here, read my first, then, since it might take you a while."

"Okay," he said in a weird voice, and I saw his fingers quivering a bit. He set his paper down between us, and I noted that his was folded twice over instead of once over like mine. Richie lifted the flap I made and started scanning the page. It didn't take him long to read; he became a much father reader since his powers bloomed. Watched with relief spreading over me as a small smile curved the corners of his mouth. I saw his glasses slip down his nose slightly as his eyes temporarily widened in awe, and even though his profile was only visible, I could tell that there was understanding in his eyes because of the way his brows softened.

Bringing his gaze up from the paper and shifting it to me, his lips fell open. "V…"

I glanced down, not sure if I felt embarrassed or ecstatic. I reached for his paper. "It's my turn now, right?"

"Um, yeah," he said slowly, and in a quick glance, I realized that his pale cheeks were tinted pink.

When I unfolded the paper and read the minimal amount of words scribbled there, I felt my stomach flip. All it said was this:

_I'm in love with you and it's never going to go away._

I blinked a couple times, my fingers sizzling with enough electricity to set the page on fire.

"Whoa, man! You're gonna burn the house down!" Richie shouted in alarm as he bolted for a bottle of water I had on my end table. He unscrewed the cap and threw it across my hands, some of it splashing my face. A murky puddle of wet ashes collected in my lap. Richie left the room and returned with a towel he threw it on me. "Sorry if I pissed you off," he huffed dejectedly. "But if you're so mad, why did you write what you did?"

"I'm not mad!" I burst out after I had wiped my pants and dabbed my face. I got to my feet and looked the blond in the eye. "I just felt so… so happy that my powers went off like_ that,_" I emphasized with an electric snap.

"_Oh,_" was all he said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, uh, what now?"

I was wondering the same thing. Normally in movies, after two people confess love to each other, they have sex. I seriously didn't think either of us was ready for something like _that._

Out of the blue, something came to me. I flashed my partner a grin. "I have an idea of something I want to try," I said.

"W-what d'ya mean?" he sputtered, clearly not liking the gleam in my eye.

I softened my features, despite the fact that I wanted to keep grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Relax, Rich," I told him.

And this brings us to the present, in which I'm tingling with this uncanny, giddy, _orange_ feeling, and am leaning in to take Richie's hand. It feels a little clammy in mine, like he's anxious, and I can tell that he's already figured out what I'm about to do.

Now, I don't want to lose my nerve. I have to do this before I chicken out, because let me tell you, I never thought that I would be attempting this action on Richie of all people.

I close the gap between us, my eyes drifting shut as Richie falls against my door. His breathing hitches, and I can feel the moist warmth of his breath on my cheek. I lick my lips and meet up with his, which are parted in surprise and anticipation.

I never thought a kiss could feel this nice. Richie's lips are soft and slightly chapped, but very warm. He sinks into my grip, finally relaxing, and moves his lips along with mine. There's a buzzing between us, and I can hear it as well as taste it on my tongue, and I know that it's my Metahuman powers acting up again. But Richie doesn't seem to mind, so I shove it to the bottom of my worry list. At the top, I'm worried that Sharon might come knocking. Boy, would she be in for a surprise if she knew!

The everlasting kiss breaks off slowly, and I press my forehead to Richie's to stabilize myself. His glasses fall clumsily off his face, and I catch them with a ray of static before they hit the floor. It's then that I realize that my hand is still intertwined with the blond's, and that we're both staring down at said hands.

"Virg, what will this do to our friendship?" he wants to know.

I lead him over to my bed and sit down. "Nothing, man. It'll only make it stronger."


	4. Beaming Yellow Rays

**A/N: I love short, dorky things; don't you?**

* * *

_.:Beaming Yellow Rays:._

"Richie, come in," a distinctly familiar voice called through my Shock Vox.

I picked up the mini walkie-talkie and held down the button to respond. "What's up? Is there trouble afoot? Need me to suit up?"

"Nah, it's something else. Do me a favor, would ya?"

"Sure, anything." I answered as I flipped another page of my comic book. I wasn't really reading it, simply scanning the pictures of an old favorite. I slumped down further into my bed. "But if it involves the computer, I'm gonna make Backpack do it, 'cause I'm too lazy to get up right now."

"Well that's too bad, because the favor is this: come look out your window."

"Huh? Why?" I ask dubiously as I straighten my legs and kick my covers down.

"You'll see," Virgil's smooth voice sing-songs from the Shock Vox, and I can't help but shrug and do as I'm told.

I climb out of my bed and toss my comic and Shock Vox onto the mussed sheets. My bar feet pad across the floor as I head for my window. I spread the curtains open wide and lift the ledge, the cool glass brushing my knuckles. I poke my head out (my screen was torn a while back, and we never replaced it).

Looking around, I expect to see my friend, but instead something else catches my eye.

Just above the roof of my neighbor's house is a shimmering picture in the darkness. It's a giant heart, swirls filling it's outline, and the entire thing is an electric purple.

Despite myself, my lips crack into a grin, and I lean against my window to admire the display before it fades like a firework. From the inside out, I feel a sunny beam lighting me up. Once the heart is gone, I call out the flirt's name.

"Yo, V! You're a real charmer, you know that?"

Laughter answers me as the black superhero emerges from his hiding place behind a tree. He flies up to my window, his disc hovering a good ten feet off the ground. He smiles at me as he comes eye-level with my window. He glances up at my face. "So you're not gonna kill me for pulling that stunt, then?"

"Not right now," I tease as I fold my arms on the ledge. "Right now, I'm a little too mushy to remember to be pissed at you for embarrassing me and possibly getting me in trouble."

Virgil lifts his blue goggles, which I can only assume he had on in the first place as protection for his eyes from the light at close-range. He inches a bit higher, a bit closer, until he's leaning against the siding of my house, his forearms within reach of my dangling fingers.

"It's not like I chose not to see you all day. I wanted to make it up to you, too, for being a jerk during our last brush with the enemy."

I shrug. "I get it, I get it. Still, did you have to be so open about it? What if someone –"

"It don't matter," he says with a wave of a gloved hand. He leans up, his disc propelling him to match my height. "'Sides, I could care less. I save the butts of all kinds of people every single day; I have the right to show off to anyone I please."

I beam at him, my smile telling him more than any response I could give. He takes it as an opportunity to capture my chin and place a kiss on my lips.

"Goodnight, Rich. I'll see you tomorrow," he says, and then he's flying away again.

I shake my head at his retreating back. "What a sap," I mutter. But I'm being a hypocrite, because I can be pretty sappy at times, too.


	5. Green With Envy

**A/N: Yay, here's the next one~ ^w^**

* * *

_.:Green With Envy:._

There is a point where one must draw the line.  
And one draws the line when the final straw breaks their back.

_Daisy, Daisy, Daisy!_ A thin blond fumes to himself as he paces his bedroom. _First he ditches me a few times to go off with her, then there was their trip to the movies over more of our plans, then his stay at her bedside, and then an electric flower outside of her hospital ward window! _He kicks his desk chair, wincing minutely at the subsequent stubbed toe. _I mean, she's my friend, and I was supportive of him when he was feeling guilty about her comatose state, but does he really have to try and impress her all the time? Does he really have to push me aside just because Daisy is involved?_

As much as it hurts his pride (wait, what pride?) to admit it, Richie Foley doesn't like being second best. Not in crime fighting, not in math class, and certainly not in a relationship; specifically the friendship between himself and a certain Virgil Hawkins.

He would never say it aloud (at least not for a while), but Richie cares a lot for his best friend. More so than should technically be called 'friendly', seeing as how he sometimes acts like the jealous ex instead of the third wheel friend.

And it pisses him off that he's so _undeniably envious,_ because he doesn't want to be. He doesn't want to feel like he deserves Virgil's time over Daisy, or that he should have the soft looks Virgil sends her way. It doesn't make sense that a best friend would be this unprecedented in his feelings, feelings which he knows are more geared towards people with crushes.

But he doesn't have a crush, does he? And if he did, why would he?

_Problem is,_ he sighs to himself as he collapses on his bed, _I know why I would. Sometimes V can drive me up a wall, and we get into some pretty dumb fights, but I always feel bad about it, even when I try to remind myself to stay angry. I like being around him more than I should, more than can be considered normal. _

And he hates feeling clingy, as if he's someone who can't be left alone. He's not like that! Richie desn't act up this way with anyone else… this green feeling only consumes him when the situation entails Virgil and Daisy. But there's always a vague hint of it, too, when it's Virgil and another girl.

Maybe it's because Richie knows that Virgil is interested in Daisy, and it makes her a threat. Maybe it's because he knows that any girl poses as a possible threat, and the fact that they are a threat to _who gets all of Virgil's undivided attention with everything they do or say _and even _who Virgil will show lasting affection to _is what really gets Richie's goat.

He hates that these are the things threatening to separate himself from his friend, because it proves even more that he basically is falling for said friend. And it's sucks, because that would make him gay. And if he were gay, then it wouldn't be 'okay'; his dad would have a conniption. Not only is his father a struggling-to-reform racist, but he's a homophobic as well. He;s disgusted by men being with men, and if his own son were to be discovered as part of _those people_, then Richie would hate to see where he'd end up. On the streets, most likely. Even his poor mother couldn't protect him if his father found out about him possibly being in love with his _black male _best friend. It's a double-whammy, one that he doesn't want to inflict upon his father.

But he can't hide the truth from himself, if it truly if the truth. And he can't stand to be so pathetically greedy, because that only makes him more jealous.

_So what am I going to do?_ He questions himself. _Think, Richie. Use those damn smarts for something useful… And no, not something useful in the science filed, because that's too easy. Think of something harder, like a useful plan to stop yourself from going crazy with green-eyed envy._

And then it hit him, an answer to his question, and a solution to his problem:

All he has to do is talk to Virgil. That way, he can change few things – like make certain plans of theirs never change just because of Daisy, that they can work her in around their training and hangout and crime fighting time – as well as explain a few. Namely, make up an excuse that isn't the truth, and hope that the other buys it.

- - -

The following day springs up like a golden window of opportunity, because it's the first day in a long while that Daisy (a flash of heated jealousy runs through him upon thinking her name) is unavailable. Richie has the chance to spend some time alone with his best friend. He just hopes that he doesn't blow it.

Of 'course, that "alone time" isn't ideal for a serious chat, seeing as how said time is during a patrol of the city. Which makes the poor genius feel as though he's going to blow it; _most definitely._

"Seems like there's nothing suspicious on the west side of the city," the infamous teen hero, Static, replays as he glides alongside his partner. "Unless, that is, Backpack is picking up something?"

"Nope," Gear replies as a stream of data flies across his helmet screen. "All clear."

"Then do we have time for a bite to eat? I'm starved," Static complains, a hand to his growling stomach.

Gear laughs. "Yeah, me too. Burger Fool isn't too far away; let's make a pit stop. Only, do we go in as our hero selves or our street selves?"

"Um, I'm gonna go with street selves. I'd rather not get a swarm of people around our booth while we eat."

"I concur with your logic, Captain," Gear grins, using his best Spock impersonation.

It never fails to make Virgil laugh. "Thank you for your input, Mr. Gear," the other returns. "Now let's get our grub on."

They soar downward into a nearby alley, and tuck their costumes away in one of the schoolbags they brought with them. Tucking their wallets into their street clothes, the duo treks over to the fast food establishment and pushes open the swinging doors.

"Here, I got this one covered. You find a seat," Virgil tells his friend. "You want the usual, right?"

"Yup," Richie nods absentmindedly. He takes a seat in a booth furthest from everyone else, out of habit. He sits near the window, and folds his hands in his lap nervously. His thumbs weave around one another. "Okay, so… what should I say, exactly?" the blond murmurs to himself. "I need to get it across that, sometimes, I need him more than Daisy does. But I can't sound jealous, or else he might figure it out. I mean, Virgil can be a bit dense, but he's not that dense. Sometimes he even figures out stuff before I do. And he knows me better than anyone else, so if I'm not careful, he'll probably catch on…" He takes a deep breath. "Alright. I think I know. I'll start it casually, like, 'Hey, V-man, there's something you do that's a little annoying –'"

"Here's our food!" the African American in question butts in to say. He sets down beefy-smelling food in front of them, and cheesy French fries with it. "And what was it you were sayin'? Something about a thing I do that's annoying?"

Richie freezes midair during a reach for one of the fries. "Uh… y-yeah, well, it's nothing big. I was just thinking about it recently, and thought that I'd, er, nip it in the bud."

"I'm all for that," Virgil shrugs as he takes a bit of his burger. While chewing, he continues, "I mean, I'm getting a little sick of our fights. I don't want them to happen anymore. So if there's something I'm doing that's annoying, then I wanna fix it before it turns into some catastrophe."

"Seriously?" Richie asks, evident hopefulness in his tone.

Virgil nods. "Sure. I'd be a jerk if I didn't want to fix things, y'know? Friends are supposed to work things out. That's how people even stay friends."

"Yeah, exactly," Richie agrees. Hmm, maybe he won't completely blow this after all. "I was thinking the same thing. And I guess the annoying thing you do isn't all that bad, but I don't want it to get worse, so…"

"So…?" Virgil prods around a sip of his soda through the straw in his cup. "What is it that annoys you so much?"

"Daisy," Richie blurts out in a rush of envy-fueled adrenaline before he can stop himself. He immediately regrets jumping directly to the source. He told himself that he would address it casually! 'You hang out with other people to the point where you're ditching me…' Okay, maybe that isn't very casual either. Dammit.

"Daisy?" Virgil echoes with a raise of his dark eyebrow. "I thought this was about something_ I _did? If you got issues with her, you gotta talk to her, not me."

"No, uh, I meant…" Richie fumbles with his words, his ears burning in light shame from his slip-up. "What I meant was, lately you've been kinda… I dunno… shoving me aside to hang with her, even over important things. N-not that you can't hang with her! I mean, it's cool if you do, 'cause she's our friend and stuff, but… um… y'know, don't be ditching me in the process. It cuts deep, man." There, he said it, for better or for worse.

The other boy blinks. Then, slowly, his eyelids fall quarter-mast in amusement as he leans forward and places his chin in his hand. "Are you jealous, Rich?" he asks rhetorically. Richie can tell by the look on his face that Virgil already knows the answer to this, but wants to hear it for himself.

Heat rears up from his ears to cover his cheeks. "Wh-what? No! _No._ Why would I be jealous? There's nothing to be jealous of! It's not like I care if she might become your girlfriend or something. I'm just saying, I don't want us to drift apart 'cause you keep forgetting some of our plans," Richie says hurriedly, ending it all with the first sinking bite of his burger to shut himself up. _Great, now I just spilled half of my guts, _he grumbles with a mental slap to his face.

Virgil's amusement doesn't leave his eyes. "Jeez, Rich. I'm sorry," he says, his tone genuine as he leans back in his seat and opens his arms in a helpless gesture. "I had no idea you felt that way. I swear, from now on, I'll make sure to keep track of my plans to keep everyone cool."

"Thanks. That's all I'm asking," Richie amends slowly, the burning receding from his face.

"Sure it was," Virgil says in that way that tells Richie that he actually isn't agreeing with the blond. He shoves the last bite of his burger in his mouth. After he swallows, he noticed that Richie isn't eating any longer. He leans across the table. "If it makes you happy, I'll let you in on a secret: I never pay for Daisy when we go out, and yet I pay for you."

Richie holds in his surprise. His eyes shoot up from their locked position on the table and connect with the rich brown ones in front of him. If he wanted to deny what Virgil's implying, he could ask what the hell he means. But he doesn't feel like being defensive at the moment. He forces half a smile to his mouth. "On occasion you do. But I recall paying for you a lot more, since half the time you're broke."

Virgil lets out a short chuckle.

But before Virgil can add anything to the conversation, a small pager goes off on Richie's belt. He glances down at it. "It's a message from Backpack. It's picked up Metahuman activity on the north side of town."

"Well then, we should go," Virgil says quickly as he stands up from the booth. He glances down at Richie's food. "Better take that to go, huh?"

"Duh; I wouldn't want to throw your money away like that; it's a rude thing to do when on a date," he jokes.

Virgil simply winks, a small grin on his fat lips.


	6. Peaceful Blue

**A/N: Okay, so, I found out today that fanfiction doesn't always lie. Some things aren't made up. Like, for example... Richie being gay. IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN THE ORIGINAL STATIC SHOCK COMIC! Honestly, I've never bothered to read much DC, only Watchman and a couple Batman ones. Normally I read Marvel, namely X-Men. So when I heard about this, and read the scans for myself... well, I was in for a wonderful surprise. I feck'n love that one of my favorite cartoon characters is actually meant to be homosexual. I'm a bit of what you might call a 'fag-hag'; I hang around gay guys and just love them. It's silly, really. But... yeah. I dunno, I just wanted to share my discovery with you. Not that you care, or weren't already aware, which I'm sure you were. Still, it makes everything Richie does feel more slashy to me. Heehe. Weird fact, though: Richie is 'Rick' in the comics. I know 'Rick' is another nickname for 'Richard', but I dunno, I like 'Richie' better. It's more... adorable. (and the cartoon version of Richie is more adorable than his comic counterpart. Seriously, in the comic, 'Rick' has long hair that he can put in a ponytail. It looks weird. XD )**

**OMG SORRY ABOUT THE RAMBLING. Just read the new chapter already, LOLOLOL.**

_

* * *

_

_.:Peaceful Blue:._

The sun shone down on Dakota without mercy, it's blisteringly hot rays making the city stifling to be out in. The only refuge was inside of a building, where you could breathe in the coldly stale conditioned air. Otherwise, you would be left out in the humid heat without so much as a passing breeze.

On this particular August day, no villain wanted to be wreaking havoc. Even people like Hotstreak wouldn't dare stir up trouble on a day when the thermometer read over one hundred degrees. And since it was summer, there was no school to preoccupy any of the children and teens.

What was there to do on a day like this one? The entire mall, arcade and all, was packed because of the boredom and air conditioning supply. So was the Center where Virgil's father worked, and essentially every other public place that anyone under the age of nineteen would have the right mind to be in.

So when it came down to it, everyone had something to do… or absolutely nothing to do. Except, maybe, lounge around their homes. Or go out for ice cream, hopefully scarfing it down before it melted into a sweet, milky soup.

But Virgil and Richie were tired of their homes, had already eaten their ice creams, and were currently walking to the closest building with air conditioning that wasn't jammed at the door by other people: the Gas Station of Solitude. Richie had fixed the air conditioning inside of it long ago, as well as the heater, with Virgil's help. They had to, seeing as how they spent a lot of time in the teeny abandoned station.

"One of these days, we gotta start building that underground base I found when I visited the future," Virgil stated casually as he plopped down on a semi-decent sofa from the garbage dump. "I'm sure you already have ideas, after the stuff I described to you."

"You bet I do," Richie grinned as he took a pop from their cooler, the voice command for a Coca-Cola being carried out. "I just haven't written it all down yet."

"Hey, can you get me one of those, too? A Pepsi, if you've got one in there."

"Catch." The blond tossed the blue can his friend's way. He stepped around some of the junk on the floor until he was seated beside the African American. "It's weird, isn't it? How peaceful it is."

"Mhm," Virgil hummed in agreement as he gulped the fizzy drink. "And all because everyone is sweating like pigs and feelin' too lazy to cause a ruckus. It's kinda funny, actually."

"Yeah, but it's also kinda _boring_," Richie commented as he leant back into the worn cushions. "Where's the action? Where's the _fun_?"

One of Virgil's eyebrows quirked at that. "Are you sayin' that you don't like having a break now and then?"

"Well, no, a break is fine, but it's… I dunno, not _normal_. Not normal for us, anyway. There's usually so much going on, y'know? Some baddie or another that we have to face, or some problem that comes up. It's weird to have things so…"

"Quiet?" the superhero offered with a smile on his lips and his soda can poised near his chin, ready for another sip.

"_Exactly!_" his partner pointed out with a finger. "It's too quiet! It's a hair pathetic, but I've gotten used to the police sirens and the yelling and the weapon fire and my own ragged breathing and drumming heartbeat. It's like, where'd it all go? It just up and left because of a heat wave? That's whack, V-man."

"Straight up whack," Virgil agreed with a chuckle, "But there ain't a thing we can do about it. We just have to go with the flow. The peaceful, dull, blue-colored flow."

"'Blue-colored'?" Richie laughed. "Where'd that come from?"

"Blue's a peaceful color, ain't it? Certain shades of it, at least. So, I figure… 'blue-colored'," the other explained with a shrug.

The blond found this amusing. "Alright, so it's a peaceful blue flow. But we're not supposed to do anything about it?"

"Nope, not a thing. Just sit back and relax, bro. Blue is considered a relaxing color, too."

"Is that so?"

"Mhm," Virgil replied as he chugged the last of his cold Pepsi and crushed the can in his hand. He tossed it somewhere on the floor. "But if you're really that bored, we can train or something."

"Um, I'll pass. I don't want to work up more of a sweat than I already was just from walking here," the genius grumbled. "Instead, maybe we could play air hockey."

"We don't have an air hockey table in here," Virgil frowned in confusion.

Richie flashed him a smile. "That's where you're wrong, V. I wanted to surprise you." he got up and stepped over to one of the many sheet-covered items in the old gas station. He yanked it off, revealing a hand-crafted air hockey table. "I made this baby last week. It'll start working if you give it some juice. But for added fun to the classic game, I rigged this up," he rambled excitedly. Richie always got excited about a new invention, a quality about him that Virgil thought was charming, because it was the only time when Richie abandoned his insecurities and was actually proud of something. "See this hole next to the scoreboard? It sprays rule-breakers with silly string! Hilarious, right?" Virgil smiled and nodded, but knew that more was coming. "Oh, and get this! I made it work like one of the original Zap Caps by making it's main source of power an old car battery that I converted into an energy storage unit. That way, we can play for as long as we like."

"That's awesome, Rich," Virgil said enthusiastically. "Just tell me where the battery is, and I'll start it up."

Richie's grin couldn't be larger. "Sweet! It's just under your side of the table."

"My side?"

"Yeah. See the orange stripe next to the score board, and the orange mallet by the orange goal? Well, that's you, duh. And I'm the one with the green stripe, green mallet, and green goal."

Virgil couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, what is with you and green?"

"What?" Richie said defensively. "Green's my favorite color. Don't be dissing green."

Virgil laughed harder. "I'm not, I'm not. Green's cool. But why is my stuff orange?"

"I dunno, I guess I was thinking of your favorite orange shirt. You know, the one with the black stripes and number five on the sleeves? You wear that one a lot, even when it's too warm for it. And your old favorite shirt was orange and yellow, so hey, I figured it was your favorite color," Richie told him as he fumbled with his green-painted air hockey mallet.

The other boy shook his head, a smile on his face. "You're such a dork, Rich. You seriously thought all of that through while making this table for us?"

Richie shrugged, a slight blush across his nose. "Not really. It was one of those things I thought of without realizing it. I just thought that color coding would make things easier, and green and orange came to mind." He shrugged again. "Anyway, let's start playing." He turned on the table, the little black puck in the middle beginning to drift from the air being pumped through the plastic top. It entered Richie's side, and he lunged forward to push it with his mallet.

Virgil returned the shot with a hard slapping noise as his right arm jerked outward to meet the puck. It flew diagonally across the broad table, making a Z before it flew into Richie's goal. The scoreboard dinged, a red digital numeral one (so much like the numbers on an alarm clock) popping up beside the orange stripe.

"Haha, got cha," Virgil smirked.

Richie fished the puck out. "We shall see who will get who in the end," he threatened in a dramatic comic-book-villain voice. He then attacked with a hard thrust of his arm, which sent the puck flying directly across from his goal and into Virgil's.

One to one, now.

"Oh, it's _on_," Virgil grinned wickedly as he bent over to retrieve the puck. As soon as it hit the table, a series of impossible moves cane into play, most of them getting blocked by the other. Back and forth the little puck went, getting scuffed from the sheer intensity of it all.

But the boys were laughing, enjoying themselves, turning their game less and less peaceful as they turned up the amp on their competitiveness toward one another.

Pretty soon, the game was eighteen to twenty, with Virgil in the lead.

"You can't hope to defeat me, young grasshopper," the mocha teen scoffed in false Japanese accent.

"You are mistaken; I am fully capable of taking you down," the white boy replied, attempting to mimic the accent but failing horribly. "Watch as I stun you with my… kamehame shot!"

"…Richie, kamehame is from Dragonball Z."

"So?"

"So, Dragonball Z is from an anime. The whole 'young grasshopper' thing is from Karate Kid. You can't go changing the dynamic! It makes the conversation sound kinda stupid."

"…Virg, that entire argument of yours was stupid."

"Hmm, I think you have a point. Carry on, then."

Rolling his eyes, Richie positioned himself a step back from the table, his hands together at his side. "_Ka… me… ha… me…_"

Virgil tried not to snicker into his hand. He tried to hold it in, but it kept tumbling out. Richie looked so ridiculous like that, trying to imitate the Sayan warrior. Still, it was the amusing type of ridiculousness, so it was allowed.

"HAAAA!" Richie roared as he threw himself forward into the table. The puck zoomed off the surface and brushed Virgil's dreadlocks as he ducked out of it's path.

"Richie, watch it!"

"…Oops. Heh heh, I guess there is such thing as 'too much power'."

The puck clattered to the floor, and Virgil picked it up. He tossed it to his partner. "Here, you can have another go, but only because watching that was the funniest thing I have _ever_ seen. Even if it nearly knocked me unconscious."

Richie smiled. "You're gonna regret this as soon as I tie with you."

"You're two points below me, bro. I don't think you stand a life form's chance on Jupiter to catching up with me."

"That sounds like something I would say. Am I rubbing off on you, Virg?"

"You should be," the other chuckled, "Since we've known each other for about, oh, I dunno… our entire lives?"

"Not even close, but for argument's sake, I'll agree with you." He set the puck back on the table. "Anyway, dodge this, mighty grasshopper."

And so the game continued, and it didn't end until sunset, Richie becoming victorious in the end with fifty-two points to fifty-one points.

"I beat you, I beat you, na na nana na naaa~" the blond cheered to himself as he danced his way around the table to shove it in Virgil's face. "What was that about not having a life form's chance on Jupiter? Maybe the scientists should check again, because now I think there is life out there."

"You only won by one point," Virgil pointed out as he crossed his arms over his chest. "_One._"

"One is enough for me!" Richie answered. He proceeded to wriggle his butt in victory. "You're just pissed 'cause you were winning during the whole thing, until I totally scored _twice in a row_."

For good measure, Virgil kicked the genius in his scrawny, smug behind. Richie let out a yelp as he stumbled forward and caught himself on the table. "Yeah, so I am a little tweaked. But it's only because I thought I could win even while going easy on you. We can always have a rematch any old time."

Rubbing his abused bum, Richie turned to face his friend. "Easy on me? Psh, as if." He took a moment to think over the last statement. "Alright, bring on the rematch. Name a day."

The mocha teen grinned. "The next one that's peacefully blue, of 'course."

The blond held out his hand. "You got yourself a deal. I love challenges; especially ones that cure boredom and earn me a chance to prove you wrong."

Virgil took the paler hand in his and shook it. "I also love challenges; especially ones that cure boredom and prove me right."

"You sound so confident," Richie dared as he tightened his grip and brought their hands up between their chests. "But I bet you're just trying to intimidate me."

"Believe me, I am," the other laughed as he also gave their hands a squeeze. When he let go, Richie was laughing again.

"Man, I don't see how I was ever bored to begin with. You never fail to disrupt the peace."

"Face it, you like that about me."

The blond adjusted his glasses. "Yeah, actually. I do."


	7. Feeling Down and Indigo

**A/N: Yes, I'm posting another within twenty-four hours. But this one is sadder than the ;ast by a long shot. D:**

**The song lyrics in the beginning and at the end are from Broken Iris's "A New Hope", which is one of my favorite songs by them (aside from "Broken Inside".)**

**Enjoy the mushy comfort! ;D**

_

* * *

_

_.:Feeling Down and Indigo:._

--

To your grave I spoke  
Holding a red, red rose  
A gust of freezing cold air  
Whispers to me  
That you are gone…

--

It has been over a year since Time Zone's powers permitted Virgil a short trip into the past to see his mother one last time. And in that year, he's been able to cope a bit better, and shove the sadness off to the side for longer periods.

But it can only be so long before all that pent-up grief catches up with you. After all, humans are very greedy creatures by nature; once we get a taste of something, we want more. And what Virgil got a taste of was a moment with his mother while he was in his teen years, which in most opinions, are the years of one's life that one truly does need their parents, as much as they like to say otherwise. And for Virgil not to have one of those desperately required parents, the same one that gave birth to him and nurtured him… well, it can be heartbreaking.

Now, Virgil rarely fell into moods like these, the glum sort that dwelled on the absence of his mother. In fact, he himself thought that those moods were gone, and that he'd gotten over them. But sometimes it takes more time than what he gave himself. It's been years since her death, and nearly two since he last saw her in his own memory, but that somehow doesn't tame the wild sorrow in the pit on his heart. That spreading, sickening sorrow that washes over him like a dark blue flood of ocean water, as deep indigo as the night sky itself, and just as empty.

Because it was emptiness he felt when these moods swung around. Yes, exactly that: empty sorrow, with hollow comfort, because no one truly knew what went on in his heart when these moods struck.

Except unbeknownst to him, Virgil did have someone who knew. He wouldn't believe it if he heard it from their mouth, but this person knew what went on in Virgil's heart because this person knew Virgil better than anyone else. And no, it was not his father, even though his father now knew about his superhero identity and was very supportive. No, this person was none other than his best friend Richie Foley.

Richie hated seeing his friend slip into these bouts of moping. Sometimes it was much more minor, and as Daisy once pointed out, caused by a fight the two were having. This was not from some fight, however. They haven't fought in months, which was a good thing. No, Richie knew that this was a dead-mother thing, and that he needed to lift his friend's spirits before the poor boy lost himself again.

The phone rang throughout Virgil's home, and Sharon raced to pick it up in case it was her boyfriend, Adam. She was disappointed, of 'course, because it was only Richie.

"Yeah, he's still cooped up in his room. I tried to get him down here the other three times you called, but obviously my baby brother thinks it's more fun to wallow in self-misery than to talk to his best friend. You mind telling me what happened to him? Did a girl dump him or something?" Sharon ranted, her hip jutting out as she placed her hand on her hip. Richie could imagine the attitude-filled pout on her lipstick-coated lips, and the worried frown in her brows.

"No, it's something else." He sighed. "Look, Sharon, can I just come over? Maybe I can talk some sense into him. Or hell, drag him out of the house to try and bring some of his spirit back. Whatever works, I'll do it. I hate him being like this as much as you do."

"You got that right," Sharon grumbled. "Okay, come over then. I need my brother out of this funk of his, it's starting to really get on my nerves."

And with that she hung up, leaving Richie to collect a few things in his bedroom before heading out the door. "Mom, I'm going to Virgil's," he yelled to the kitchen.

"Alright, sweetie! Be back before ten, got it?"

"Sure thing!" he called back as he shut the front door behind him, his house keys jingling in his pocket. He took his motor scooter over to his friend's house, despite having a driver's license. Richie would have loved to utilize the chance to use one of the cars, but unfortunately, his dad was using the only one they had at the moment, so he had to settle for his old methods of transportation.

When he got to Virgil's house, Richie didn't bother to knock or ring the doorbell. He simply walked right in like he usually did. He marched up the stairs, getting a quick, "Cheer him up!" from Sharon while she, like his mother, made dinner.

"V-man?" Richie ventured as he rat-a-tap-tapped on the other boy's bedroom door. "Can I come in?"

"Richie?" came the vague reply. There was a muffled sigh. "Keep your hands off the knob," Virgil instructed. Within seconds, the knob was buzzing and turning by itself. The door swung open, and Richie immediately entered.

"Virgil, what are you doing hanging around like this? It's Saturday. It's almost time for school to start up again., and we're finally going to be seniors! You should be out partying or something," the blond ranted as he pulled up Virgil's desk chair and sat in it backwards, his arms resting on the back and his legs straddling the sides.

Virgil managed a small, toothy smile. "Rich, you know that we don't party."

"That still doesn't stop you from having fun with others," Richie retorted as he sunk his chin into the sweatshirt fabric on his forearms. He inhaled deeply. He was going to dive straight into the problem, it was best for a situation like this. "Look, I know what's wrong with you. I've been feeling it all week. So do I have to say it, or will you bring it up first?"

The other rolled onto his side away from Richie. "What're you talking about?"

The blond held back an eye roll. His hands flew up to gesture randomly. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Virgil! I mean how depressed you're acting. It's because you're missing your mother again."

He could visually see the way Virgil tensed up from his hunched shoulders down to his bending knees. "Shut up."

"Not this time," Richie said strictly as he got up from his seat. He didn't consider Virgil's personal space whatsoever as he came to sit beside the mocha teen. He leant the base of his back against Virgil's, their spines perpendicular to one another. He could feel the body heat radiating through his friend's shirt, which he noticed was the same shirt from yesterday. He could also feel the way Virgil seemed to shrink in on himself at the contact. Richie let out a frustrated breath of air as he placed his hands on either side of his knees, his knuckles going white as he gripped the edge of the mattress. "Last time you got all moody like this was when I told you that I was gay. And the time before that was from another fight, and the time before that was another mother episode. And since we haven't fought in forever and since you're over my sexuality, I know this is another mom thing." He peered over his shoulder at his friend. "So please, Virg, open up to me about this. Tell me what you're thinking, what you're feeling. I know that sometimes, memories aren't enough, and can make you miss her more. But I can help you deal with it if you let me."

Virgil blinked, not at all expecting to hear such a speech coming from the whiz-kid. Then again, he _was_ a whiz-kid, which meant that he thought everything through. And he was Virgil's best friend, which meant that he cared about Virgil. A lot.

The African American exhaled slowly like a smoker savoring a puff on a cigar. He scooted over on his teeny twin-sized bed and rolled onto his back to bring his gaze to Richie's eyes. The blond sat there patiently, his face reserved and his eyes soft behind his oval glasses. "Fine, I'll spill. Just don't rag on me about it later, and definitely don't tell Pops or Sharon."

"Can do," Richie swore with a curt salute. "Now tell me what's going on in there?" he teased lightly as he poked his friend once on the forehead, and a second time on the center of his chest.

Virgil forced himself to sit up. His legs crossed and his hands sought refuge in each other, his thumbs tapping against his folded fingers. "It's kinda hard to explain out loud," he began.

"Try," Richie coaxed as he lifted his legs and crossed them on the bed, his hands falling back to prop himself up.

Virgil exhaled again. "Alright." He paused while he collected his thoughts and emotions, his dark brown eyes focusing on nothing in particular. "So, uh, I guess you could say that it's been a slow-build of all the times she's popped into my head because of one instance or another," he relayed gently. His hands shook, and Richie reached out to stabilize them. Virgil didn't shake his touch away. Instead, the comfort jumped from Richie's hand and into Virgil. The words came more swiftly now as he relaxed a bit. "And each time, y'know, I kept telling myself to forget it, not to worry about it, because I was fine with her death. I _was_ – am. I am, because I know that she's always looking out for me, and that she wouldn't want me to get all choked up years after the fact. But…"

"But you still miss her," Richie finished softly, his grip on Virgil's hands going lax as his fingertips rubbed in small circles over the chocolate knuckles. "And after knowing what it could have been like if she lived to see you become a Bang Baby and Static and such a…" he cut himself off as soon as he realized where he was going with his words. He had been about to say, '_and such a handsome young man that any girl would be lucky to have.' _He withdrew his hand to cough embarrassedly into it. "I mean, to know how proud and supportive she would've been… it hurts."

Virgil nodded, although a small part of him wondered what else Richie was about to say. "Yeah, it does. I just wish I could have Moms here after each major battle to dab my wounds and tell me that I did good. It's stupid, but –"

"No it's not," Richie argued. "Don't let people fool you, man. Teenagers as just overgrown kids. Adults are, too. We all need reassurance and that motherly, I-got-your-back-sweetie kind of bullshit. It's what gets us by. And I hate that you don't have it, Virg, because you deserve it."

Virgil looked at him then, his thick lips parted in awe. "You really think so?" he struggled to say around the continuing tightness in his throat.

The blond smiled. "Hey, would I lie to you?" he said with open hands, as if shrugging. He placed one of those hands on his friend's shoulder. "I know that you crave your mom's presence, and I know that it affects you more than the rest of your family because you two were so close, but look at your dad: he was married to the woman, in love with her, and he lost her. I'm sure there are nights that he cries to himself because half of his bed is empty. But you have to understand that he sees that has to be done – like going to work the next day, and taking care of his children – and knows that he needs to put up a front and accept what is in order to carry out what has to be." He paused to give that warm shoulder a small squeeze, contact always being the best comfort outside of empathetic words. "I won't ask you to fake a smile, Virg, but I will ask you to remember what I just said. It's going to be hard your entire life, but you have me and your family to get you through it. Okay?"

He wasn't asked to fake a smile, but a smile came to his mouth anyway. It was a sad smile, but one that told Richie that Virgil was ready to get out of his emotional slump. "Okay." Then, before he could think twice about it, Virgil leaned forward and embraced the blond genius. He held him tightly, trying to rid himself of his pain by soaking up the benign things Richie was projecting. "Thanks, Rich."

Once the initial shock wore off (this was the first time Virgil's been so close to him since he mentioned his sexuality), Richie smiled and returned the gesture with a pat on Virgil's back. "'S nothing, man."

"It's more than you'll know," Virgil rasped, tears threatening to escape. There are moments when a hug made you want to cry even more than the seconds before it occurred. It could be because, in a close embrace, the other person can't see you crying. It could be because, in such a warm gesture, the tickle of their jaw on your shoulder and the feeling of their clothing under your fingernails can make you feel vulnerable. Either way, Virgil could feel himself breaking. He sucked in dry air and wrenched his eyes shut. Richie kept holding him, though, because he knew what his superhero partner needed. He let him cry, and didn't care that his shirt was going to be soaked.

It lasted a mere five minutes, but it was the longest five minutes of Virgil's life. When he was done, he sniffed a few times and pulled out of the hug to wipe his eyes. He looked like a mess, and it made Richie smile. "Feeling better?" the blond inquired.

"Yes, actually," Virgil answered around a sniffle. His hand went from his eyes to run through his dark dreadlocks. "Man, do I feel weird. It's like I'm both relieved and a little embarrassed at the same time. I don't even remember when the last time I cried was."

Richie let out a small laugh. "It's like that for most guys. It's like we're an indestructible race that doesn't want to admit that sometimes we sob like little girls, too."

Virgil actually laughed at this. "You know, I think that's true." After a moment, he suggested, "Want to go out for pizza?"

"Isn't Sharon downstairs making dinner?" Richie posed with a lifted brow.

Virgil grinned gently. "That's the point."

If he was already cracking jokes about his sister's cooking, then Richie knew that his friend was going to be all right. "Sure, let's go then. But maybe you should change your clothes; you've been in them since yesterday. What did you do, fall asleep in them last night and didn't bother to get up and shower today?"

"…Um, yeah."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I'll wait downstairs and take the heat of ditching your sister's cooking while you get ready."

"Okay. Thanks again, Rich."

"What're friends for?" the blond replied on his way out the door.

Virgil smiled as the door shut behind the genius. He loved having Richie there for him; indirectly, he was getting that same unconditional love and support that he would have had if his mother had been around, only the kind that Richie gave him was far from motherly.

--

Spent a lifetime of holding on  
Just to let go  
I guess I'll spend another lifetime  
Searching for a new hope

--


	8. Violet Temptation

**A/N: Uh-hum, so... this is where I get my T-rating from, aside from the swearing. So enjoy~ P:**

**On another note, this is not the end of this little rainbow. Oh no, I still have much more to do! Originally, I was going to write Brown after this, and then the three shades; White, Grey, and Black. But thanks to an anonymous reviewer that goes by _Wishing I Was Human_, I have decided to add two more to my drabble collection: Gold and Silver. Their idea was for Silver, being a post-Brainiac-incident oneshot that has post-traumatic stress in it on Richie's part. And d'you know what, _Wishing_? I've been dying to write something like that. I've wanted an excuse to use the Brainiac incident, and PTS is perfect for it! So I shall save the best for last, meaning that Silver will wrap up this colorful fanficiton. :D**

**Thanks so much, _Wishing I Was Human_! And thanks to te rest of you, too, for reviewing. Especially you, Ubiko; you're one of those "constant-reviewers" that drop a line for each new chapter, and I love that. :3**

**Song inspiration for this chapter that needed to be played repeatedly in order to write: "I Want You" by Cosmicity. Look it up on 'playlist' or 'youtube'.**

_

* * *

_

_.:Violet Temptation:._

It's not fair. It's not fair knowing that something you desire is constantly within reach, and yet completely off-limits. It's not fair, because it's one giant temptation dyed a romantic purple through the lustrous feelings flowing through him. What he wants is absurd, but it's something that's been bothering him for a long, long time now.

The thing Virgil Hawkins craves, out of everything in the world, is actually the worst thing to crave. And that's to touch the milky surface of his best friend's skin.

It's crazy, utterly insane; he shouldn't feel this way. But every time he sees Richie suited up as Gear, the newly tones muscles of his biceps exposed… something bizarre comes over him, this unexplained _need _to drag his mocha fingers over them. And when they go out for a swim on the beach by the bay, the temptation grows even stronger. Richie usually wears a white undershirt with his trunks, but that's not enough to hide him. When he gets wet, the shirt becomes see-through and it's all Virgil can do to reign in his hormones.

It's pure frustration, because he knows that Richie is homosexual. He knows that if he tires anything, Richie might take it the wrong way and think that Virgil is using/experimenting with him, or making fun of him; both of which were not the case at all. Or maybe worse, he'll take it the right way and Virgil will wind up getting himself into a problematic situation. Only he kinda-sorta wants that situation. It's horribly wrong, he knows, but he can't help it; Richie is looking more and more attractive to him every day. And he doesn't know why.

The even deeper temptation is his never-dying curiosity. Virgil wonders if his electric powers could tickle Richie's skin, and make all the fine blond hairs stand on end. He secretly wonders what it would be like to have the lowest of voltages lighting his entire body as his skin touched Richie's.

Thoughts like these make him feel dirty, but in the cleanest of ways. But they also make Virgil wish that he were a stranger so that he didn't have to feel guilty about fantasizing about his best friend. He wasn't even sure where these thoughts put him as far as his own sexual orientation goes; did it make him bisexual? If so, at least he could hide behind the double-sexuality to save some of the shock from whoever found out.

This has to stop soon, though. He either has to satisfy his urges or dump them entirely, because the constant waves of violet temptation are driving him up a wall.

There came a point in which Virgil didn't dare be more physically friendly with Richie outside of their usual knuckle-bumps. He doesn't want to risk losing control of himself.

But one day, Richie decides that he doesn't like this.

"V, what's your deal lately? It's like you can't stand being within a ten-foot radius of me! Just what's going on, huh? I'm starting to wonder if maybe you're not so okay with me being gay after all," he spits with evident hurt in his tone.

"No _way,_ Rich! It's not like that!" Virgil tries to explain. He scratches the back of his head as he squirms uncomfortably. "It's… far from it."

The blond raises an eyebrow. "What are you saying…?" he says as he eyes the other skeptically.

Virgil sighs. He might have to tell Richie what he's been feeling as of late. He only hopes that the blond doesn't flip out and leave because of it. He's done that before during different scenarios. In fact, during a fight, Richie is usually the first to leave. And it breaks Virgil's heart.

"Listen man, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be acting all distant. It's just… uh… hmm." He stops short as he frowns, unsure what to say. Desperately, he adds, "Don't worry about it, 'kay? It's not a big deal, just a little issue I have."

"Issue? How is an issue not a big deal? If there's something wrong –"

"Nahhh," Virgil drowns the syllable out in order to convince his friend. "Nothing, really. I swear." And he laughs to prove it. But it sounds hysterical and nervous. "So let's just drop the conversation and –"

Richie notices the faulty tone in the laugh, and grabs hold of Virgil by the elbow as the mocha teen attempts to slip out the door. They're at Richie's house for once, both of his parents gone for the weekend for a high school reunion. It's meant to be a two-day sleepover, because Richie's mother felt rest assured if she knew that her son wasn't going to be entirely alone while she was away. But as it's going thus far, a sleepover seemed unlikely, mainly due to the fact that Virgil doesn't know how potentially detrimental being in the same room with Richie for such a long period of time could be.

"Virgil," the blond says carefully, his eyes piercing into his friend's. He doesn't need to say more than a name, and his message is sent. Virgil knows when he's caught.

Especially when it's physically. He glances down at Richie's hand, which starkly contrasts the brown, naked skin of his forearm. He swallows shallowly, trying to remember how to form words. Why is he reacting this way? One simple touch… only one, and yet the flame of his internal lust is ignited. But why is he lusting after Richie or all people? Why not Frieda, or Daisy, or any of the other girls in his school? Virgil hasn't a single clue.

"Richie," he croaks out from his suddenly dry throat, "It's not what you think."

"Then don't leave, and tell me what it is I'm not thinking," he replies stubbornly.

"I was just going to get some water," Virgil says. There, that's one way of using his nerves to his advantage. He jerks his arm out of Richie's grasp. "I'll be right back," _after I collect my thoughts and guzzle down an entire bottle of water. _

Downstairs, Virgil tugs open the refrigerator door with a bit too much gusto, and a few of the bottles on the door shelves clank against one another as they rattle in place. He winces at the sound and bends down to grab an Ice Mountain from the bottommost drawer. The grooves of the eco-bottle shape fit perfectly in his hand. He clenches the bottle tightly as he chugs over half of it, a few drops spilling down over his lips and onto his chin. He takes a deep breath, the coldness seeping into his teeth to make him shiver. Then, slowly, Virgil sips the last of the water prior to throwing the empty plastic into the recycling bin.

And then it was time to re-face Richie and somehow have the guts to admit what's wrong with him. Gee, that'll surely be a fun conversation…

'Rich, I bet you're wondering why I've been acting like an asshole. Well, it's kinda funny, actually: lately I've been having this nagging urge to screw you! Weird, huh?'

'Yeah, Virg, that is pretty weird. And d'ya know what my answer is?'

'No, what?'

'This!' …And he'll proceed to punch Virgil in the face, or knee him in the family jewels, or kick him out of the house. Yep, that's about the reaction that Virgil expects if he said such a thing.

Good thing that's not what he's going to say.

Only, what _should_ he say?

Sighing in defeat, Virgil hikes up the stairs to meet his doom. He enters Richie's room with a hung head, his palm wedged uncomfortably inside his pocket. "So, um, I guess I should tell you what's up."

"It'd be nice to know, yeah," the blond confirms as he sits on his bed.

_Great,_ that's the last place Virgil wants to be. So he opts to stand a bit off to the side, out of reach of both the soft surface and Richie. He begins pacing a few steps to the left, and then a few to the right. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, man, because the last thing I want is for this to get ugly. See, the thing is… lately, I've been feeling a bit, er, _different_."

"Different?" Richie echoes. "Hey, does that mean that your powers are acting up? That would explain why you haven't been coming near me; it must be another sunspot –"

"That's not it," Virgil interjects as he rubs his hands together anxiously, the friction generating a tiny electrical current. "My powers are fine, thanks. No, there's another reason… another really stupid, teenaged-hormones-based reason that I'm a little ashamed of."

Richie stares at him incredulously. "Wait, you're not saying…"

Virgil hesitates. "Um, that depends. What do you think that I'm saying?"

"I'm not entirely sure," the blond frowns, "But a few things come to mind. Although most of them don't seem very likely."

"I s-should come out with it, then," the other stumbles over his words. "Richie, I'm, uh, attracted to you," he confesses in a small voice. It's not nearly strong enough wording to express the full sexual tension running through him, but it suffices when it comes to softening the blow.

Richie's face is the perfect example of being astounded. "Say _what?_"

Virgil fidgets, his footing shifting as he hides the flinch in his brows at the practically squeaked 'what'. "It's not easy for me to say this, okay? So chill for a second. What I mean is… lately, I dunno, I've been getting this crazy _need _to see what your skin feels like. I swear it's not normal, and I feel awful about it, because I shouldn't want to know something like that! You're my best friend, dammit. And I'm not gay! At least, I don't_ think_ that I am. But some of the ideas I get in my head sometimes…" but he drifts off here. He shakes his head, as if it'll throw his words off like a rider on a wild bull. It doesn't work; words, once said, stick like glue. That's why, at times, words can hurt more than sticks and stones, despite the lie that old rhyme teaches you.

"V," Richie says gently, a small smile on his lips, "It's okay. Really."

"How is it okay?" Virgil snaps back. "I'm losing my mind, Rich, I want you so bad!"

_Whoa, that definitely came out wrong,_ the mocha teen thinks as he clamps his jaw shut. What's Richie going to do now? He's afraid to find out. But once again his temptation to know interferes with his logic, so instead of choosing the wise thing and fleeing, Virgil is rooted to the spot, awaiting the consequences.

His mind goes blank, however, as soon as the consequences of his words hit him in the face in the form of Richie's lips.

The superhero freezes for a millisecond, his hands raised in the air like petrified tree limbs. But as soon as he thaws, Virgil's eyes are closing and his hands are wrapping themselves around the skimmer body in front of him. He opens his mouth, his tongue hungry for the taste of his friend's. Richie complies immediately, and it triggers a hazy thought in Virgil's mind: _was he holding back as much as I was? Does he want me, too?_

_He must, _Virgil realizes, _because his fingers are ducking under the tail of my shirt to touch my back._

And he also realizes just how sweet that feels, Richie's cool fingers threading invisible designs along his spine. And he realizes, too, how much more you feel when your eyes are closed. So he keeps them closed as his hands wander under Richie's shirt, too, and shoves it upwards to map out the texture of the milky skin underneath, with the exception of the occasional bump that Virgil knows is one of Richie's beauty marks. He knows because, when they were kids, they would run around his yard without their shirts as they leapt through the sprinkler, and he saw the small brown dots randomly scattered across the white boy's flesh.

Without taking notice to how they land on the bed and only caring that he's balanced enough not to break the onslaught of kisses, Virgil allows his hands to caress whatever they touch. Up Richie's ribs, down his arms, along his collar bone to grip the hair at the base of his neck. All the while there are small sucking noises as Virgil makes his way down Richie's throat, being careful not to give him a hickey because, hey, that won't fade for a few days, and he doesn't want his parents to know. Because his mom is already aware of his sexuality, and Virgil's sure that she's smart enough to figure out that Virgil at Richie's home for the weekend plus mysterious bruise marks equals…

Equals… what was he thinking again? The African American's thought process is suddenly halted as Richie's teeth lightly sink into his skin as a reaction to a sensitive spot Virgil discovered near the blond's ear. There's a brief apology for the reaction, and Virgil laughs, because it's cute that Richie wants to apologize for the little nip.

Moving swiftly, Virgil removes a few obstacles, namely their shirts and Richie's glasses. He then lowers himself so that he's hovering a bit less. And, slowly, maneuvers them so that they're facing each other on Richie's bed, both of them lying on their sides. Virgil brings them closer for a second, simply to feel his sweating chest against a familiar one of similar build, their hearts beating rapidly at different rates. But in this gesture Virgil also feels what all this touching is doing to their bodies in a much lower region.

Richie's hand weaves itself in Virgil's hair as the darker teen places a kiss on the center of his friend's chest before leaning over to cover a perked bud with his mouth. He can feel Richie quivering, his breathing growing ragged. Yes, the other was definitely holding back the entire time, precisely in the way that Virgil had been. It's nice to know, because now his conscious is clear, and he can fulfill a few of his tempting urges.

Switching to the other nipple, Virgil allows his hand to drift to just below Richie's belt, where the rough fabric of Richie's jean pockets meets his hands. The butt pockets, he notices, as he slides his hand inside one of them. Above his head, the blond lets out a short gasp, the kind that sounds adorably embarrassed. "Virg, don't –"

The dark-skinned teen ceases the work of his mouth to chuckle softly against Richie's torso. "Your butt is off-limits, I get it," he says amusedly as he brings his hand back up to Richie's shoulder to push him onto his back once more. "Sorry."

Richie frowns up at him. "I'm just not going to let you call all the shots, wiseguy," he huffs. "I'm no uke, thankyouverymuch."

"Using anime terms on me now?" Virgil grins, his pearly whites flashing a bit smugly. "Funny, because I wasn't thinking of any of that."

"Sure you weren't," Richie retorts as he rolls them over. His spiky hair hangs down around his face like a sunny halo, some of his bangs sticking to his sweating forehead.

Virgil's smile doesn't fade. "Then g'head, call your own shots. I don't mind in the least." And he truly doesn't, because finally he can release his restless feelings. Finally, he can touch the boy he loves.

– Wait,_ loves_?

The realization dawns on him the second Richie retorts a short, 'Fine, then I will' and moves to kiss a line down Virgil's shaking stomach. His grip on Richie's shoulders tightens, and he can't stop the smirk that worms it's way onto his lips. So he loves Richie, huh? Just how much? Because enough would explain why he craved Richie so badly or so long. It would also explain why this doesn't feel awkward whatsoever, despite the circumstance of him making out with his best friend of… well, many, _many_ years.

Without warning, Richie leans up, the action causing his pelvis to rock not-too-gently against Virgil's hips. Vibrant purple flashes behind Virgil's eyelids. His nails dig dull half-moons into his white friend's shoulders as he lets out a small grunt akin to a moan. Now _that _was unexpected. Unexpected because Virgil and Richie both hadn't seen it coming, but both find that they like it.

The question is, _when to stop? _

They can go half of the way now, if they wanted to. They could keep up that rocking motion, the cloth of their boxers and jeans eventually getting soiled. They could, but then where would that leave them? And where would they be if they instead decided to remove the clothing and go farther than that?

"R-Richie," Virgil stutters, trying to clear his thoughts enough to actually form words. He holds his friend in place, and restrains his own urge to flip them over and keep grinding. "What's going to happen?"

Essentially, he was asking is they were going to go all the way, and if they do, what their relationship would be afterwards. Lovers? Friends with benefits? It's all so risky, so complex, so puzzling. Virgil isn't sure if he's ready for all of that, and yet it's coming up on him pretty quickly.

For a minute, he curses his temptations. He should have never given in to them. But in the same minute, he praises them, because this feels_ too damn amazing for words._

Richie blinks down at his partner. "I… I dunno," he says slowly, uncertainly. "I don't want you to regret anything, V."

"And what about you? I don't want you regretting anything, either," Virgil answers gravely. "'Cause I…" He catches himself. _No, don't say it, _he thinks quickly. _You only recently figured it out. Don't say that you love him to his face quite yet._ "…Don't want you to get hurt," he fills in. _Nice save,_ his mind commends him.

A tremor runs through Richie, and Virgil knows it's because his excitement is becoming painful. He knows because his own in the same. But Richie informs him, "You won't hurt me, Virg. Because I can tell that you won't ditch me, no matter what happens this weekend. And I promise that this won't ruin a thing between us, because if you're as scared as I am, then I know there's nothing to worry about."

Virgil smiles warmly. "Well that's a relief," he says. He lifts his head to peck Richie on the cheek. The peck turns into many as Virgil finds that he has no more objections. He decides to ride this wave out, and see where it carries him. And if that means that they're both going to lose their virginity tonight, then so shall it be. _Que sera, sera._


	9. Murky Brown Worry

**A/N: I think this is my longest one yet! And I didn't even mean for it to turn out that way. XD**

* * *

_.:Murky Brown Worry:._

He knows that he should be more worried about himself, and he knows that his best friend worries about him, but he can't help to feel the most worried about Virgil since he's mainly the one putting his life on the line time and time again.

Virgil is Static Shock, a quickly well-known teen superhero, since he's the only one who bothers to use his powers for something other than personal gain. And all the while Richie has been his backup, and later, his partner Gear. It's all Richie can do, though; be the one to fall back on. He's rarely the one coming to Virgil's rescue, since his own powers are limited to that of what his brain can invent. But a rescue mission is exactly what made him Gear in the first place, so when it comes to equal status, Richie doesn't complain.

Still, he would like to be less on the sidelines. He would like to be able to take on Static's foes himself, because he can't stand seeing Virgil get hurt. He hates that he's merely "the smart one", because it makes him appear weaker. But don't get him wrong; the sign of weakness is less of a pride issue and more of a protection issue. Richie can hardly protect himself, and yet he wishes to protect his best friend. Not out of payback or anything along those lines; he simply wishes to keep the one he loves safe from harm.

It's been a while now since they made a deeper relationship between one another. Nearly four months, to be exact. It's a secret, though, because no one needs to know what goes on between them in their spare time. Plus, if one of the enemies found out… well, if they've tried using Richie before as bait since he's a _friend _of Static's, imagine what they would do if they knew that he's Static's _boyfriend._ The stakes are higher. So for their own wellbeing, their status is kept under wraps. Many, many wraps.

Unfortunately, nothing stays secret for long. And that's what worries Richie above all else.

And he has plenty to lose sleep over, because some people can pick up on the signs better than others. Already Frieda asked him why he and Virgil are suddenly _friendlier _with each other, to which Richie simply laughed off and replied, 'What d'ya mean, friendlier? We're best friends, so we're always friendly with each other.' Then, later, he overheard Frieda talking to Daisy, giggling about how defensive and bashful he had been (he felt offended; him, bashful? _Tch_), and how it's 'so totally obvious' that they were going out. Daisy, Richie noticed, was surprised, but more about Virgil than Richie (again,_ tch_).

But as long as no one makes the connection between each of the boys' identities, things are relatively in the safe-zone.

Yet there are other things to consider, and some nights these other things preoccupy Richie's complex mind, the murky brown sludge known as panic and worry coating each 'what if'. What if Virgil is captured again? What if he's out patrolling alone and gets into deep trouble, unable to call out for help? What if he – figuratively or literally – takes the bullet for Richie? What if…

"Uhg, _shut up_, stupid brain!" Richie grumbles to himself as he rolls onto his side and covers his head with his folded pillow. "Go into hibernation mode or something." Like a computer, his mind races with multiple thought tracks at once. Like he told Virgil when his powers first bloomed, 'it's like my thoughts are thinking thoughts!' Because, in a manner of speaking, they _are._ And late into the night, a majority of them are all about Virgil in one way or another. Richie usually forces the more pleasant thoughts to the front of his mind if he can, but sometimes even the genius isn't capable of controlling his rising fears.

It's on this night, when more 'what if's are going on a rampage, that Richie gets a weak call from his Shock Vox. Blinking in the dim lighting, he shifts in his blankets and reaches for the hand-made walkie-talkie on his end table. "What was that?" he says, asking Virgil to repeat himself.

"I said, _I need you! _There's an armed-robbery at the bank, and some of the late-night workers are trapped inside as hostages!" Virgil's voice hisses through the crinkling static. Richie hears two rapid gunshots, and then screaming. "Hurry! I don't know if I –" But then his sentence is sliced in half as the Shock Vox goes dead.

A shot of sinking fear cuts Richie's stomach from it's tubes, and he feels it drop much farther than where a stomach should be. He struggles to let go of the Shock Vox as his mind seems to come to a screeching halt. He can almost hear the crash of his thoughts speeding together into a pile of broken, jumbled words.

Then, he's moving quickly, as fast as his mind normally moves, only this time his body is the one doing the thinking. Without realizing the full extent of his actions, Richie flies out of his bed and shimmies out of his pajama bottoms and into his green-and-white suit. He dons his helmet and scoops up Backpack, not even bothering to give it a voice command. The machinery can easily synch up with his thoughts and comprehend what it is he needs to do.

His skates locking into place, Richie fully becomes Gear, and he leaps out his bedroom window. The jets burst into flame and propel him into the sky, and he flies towards the bank, Backpack climbing from his arms to rest on his back where it belongs.

"V," he murmurs softly in the confines of his helmet. The worry escalates from his disconnected stomach to plug every pore in his body with sticky sweat. He swallows hard, hoping that if the Shock Vox was destroyed, it doesn't mean that his love was destroyed along with it. To make sure, the blond clears his throat to order, "Backpack; scan the bank – no, better make that the entire city – for Static's Shock Vox."

Data immediately streams in across the bottom of his vision. It informs him that there are no signs of it anywhere.

The dread turns his sweat icy.

"Please don't be hurt," he chants as he gets closer to the bank, "Please, please don't be hurt. I'm almost there. I'm comin' for you, man." It becomes a small mantra of comfort, the word 'please' being whispered continuously.

Richie makes a left turn around a tall building, and the bank comes into sight. He makes a landing off to the side of it, the windows dark, but he can see figures moving. Most of them are ducked down, hands on their heads. They must be the workers. But where's Static? Where's Virgil's mop of dreadlocks? It's too unclear to tell if he's there, but even shadows should be able to give him away. Or even a flash of light from his electricity. So where…?

Assessing the situation, Gear disables the outer alarms and sneaks into the bank. He rolls along the tiled flooring like a swift ghost in the night, and suddenly he wishes that his costume was a darker color than white and green, because as much as he loves green, it's only good for hunting or army camouflage, not ninja stealth.

The blond exhales slowly and switches to the built-in night vision on his helmet. Greenish-grey light fills his line of sight. He creeps past multiple cowering bodies, and each one that lifts their heads to blink at him in the dark, he raises a finger to his lips to shush them, and then whispers, "I'm here to save you. Hold on." And they all nod or start to cry before shrinking back into their please-don't-shoot-me positions.

Acting quickly, Gear skates near the front desk where a man with a semi-automatic and black ski mask sits atop the counter and observes the hostages. Gear figures that the other participants in the robbery are off stealing while this guy is stuck babysitting. A wry smile forms on Gear's lips; this is almost too easy. If he wants to, he can threaten this man into telling him where his beloved partner is.

…But no, that would cause too much of a disturbance, and the others – who knows how many there are! – would come to back this guy up, and then Gear would be surrounded and Static-less. So he takes into account another option: using one of his Zap Caps to tie the man up and silence him while Gear does away with the gun. It's a lot safer and quieter than the first plan, so nodding to himself, Gear withdraws one of the devices and takes aim.

Within seconds, the baddie is on the ground squirming, his yells muffled by a wire in his mouth. The scene briefly reminds Gear of when the same thing occurred to Shiv on a different rescue-Virgil mission. His first, to be exact.

"I'll come back for you later," he growls at the man as he strips him of his gun and hands it to one of the rising hostages. The hostage is dressed in a bue shirt and navy dress slacks, a small badge on his lapel. "Are you a security guard here, sir?" he asks.

The man nods and scrambles completely to his feet. "One of the new night guards," he informs the teen.

"Here," Gear says, handing him the gun. "Keep an eye on this guy, would ya? I have some other business to attend to."

"Um, sure thing," the guard stutters unconfidently as he takes the gun with shaking hands. "God, I've never handled anything bigger than a handgun before…"

"You don't have to fire it," Gear leans in to say. He doesn't want the robbing accomplice to hear him. "Just use it as intimidation until I come back with Static."

"Oh yeah, you're Static's sidekick, aren't you?"

"Actually, we're partners."

"Same diff. Look, I don't know where he is, but I know how you might be able to find him; on the basement floor there's a room with a door that says 'security personnel only' on it. If you go inside, there'll be monitors of every room and vault in this building. Static has to be in one of those, so if you just look to see which one, you can go get him," the guard rambles, his nerves clearly shaken. But he's attempting to be helpful to get his own slice of heroism, and for this Gear is grateful.

He smiles politely at the man, whom can't be more than thirty-five. "Thank you, citizen. I'll be on my way, now," and he forces a short salute as the guard takes his stance beside the fallen criminal.

And then Gear is speeding down the hallways and turning on the jets in his skates as he jumps the stairs to the basement. He finds a hallway and near the end of it, the door that he's looking for. Only there's a man stationed there, another in a ski mask, and unlike the man before him, he has green skin peaking out, which means that he must be a Bang Baby.

The man turns and spots him, stunningly orange irises staring Gear's way through the eyeholes of the mask. "It's _you!_ You're that genius kid that hangs with Static," the man barks, and he tears off his gloves. A teeny voice in the back of Gear's head automatically makes the assumption that the gloves were on to stop fingerprints from being left anywhere. Green hands the sickly color of vomit ripple and stretch to form disgusting ivy tentacles, and for a minute Gear thinks of how cool that would be if it wasn't going to attack him. But he remembers that this isn't a Plant Man comic and that guy isn't the lovely Poison Ivy, so he's in deep shit.

_Okay, so, what are enemies of plants? _He thinks as he dodges a whip from the man's hands. And another. And another. He leaps around the hallway, which luckily has a rather high ceiling for a basement. Gear glances upwards, and notes that there are three pipelines, each labeled with what they contain. _Water, gas, and electricity. If I was Vigil, I could use the electricity to my advantage. But I'm not him, so I have to think fast. Let's see… water won't do me any good, because with the exception of drowning small plants, most of the bigger ones just absorb the water. So all that's left is –_

A tentacle wraps itself around his ankle like a living vine, and thorns pop out to try and pierce his suit. He orders Backpack to laser it off, and that's when an idea hits him.

_Of 'course! A plant doesn't stand a chance against fire! So if I could melt a hole in that gas line and then shoot it with one of the flare Zap Caps, the guy's arms will set on fire and I can run past him into the room! Only… how do I get it so that it doesn't spread too far to hurt me or anyone else?_

The roars and rears up deadly close, his ivy arms snaking up around Gear's sides. Panic rises in his chest, but more because he thinks he's going to fail Virgil than he's going to lose his life.

_I don't have time to work out the details, _he thinks while one of the vines threaten to choke him. He grunts as he wrestles with it, his feet beginning to lift off the ground. _I have to act now before it's too late, and I'm unconscious on the floor!_

So, with a roundhouse kick higher than any he's ever managed, he triggers the jets in his boots and kicks at the arm that's nearly strangling him. The man shrieks and yanks the tentacle back, the other loosening it's coil around Gear's waist as a reflex. He takes this opportunity to break free and, lifting into the air with his boots, shoot a hole in the gas pipe to spray down upon the plant-like Bang Baby. He flies ahead of the leak and kicks back, the flames form his jets igniting the gas and sending a fury of flames on the criminal's clothes. The ski mask burns off as the man rolls to put out the fire, but Gear isn't looking any longer. He's already at the doorway of the security monitor room, his conscious beginning to weight heavy with the guilt of harming, possibly killing, another person. He mind flashes to the two-headed monster that used to be Hotstreak and Ebon, and how the two drowned in the harbor, essentially killed by himself and Virgil.

But Richie has no time to think of that now; he has to locate his boyfriend and get them the hell out of here, and hopefully the police in their place. Speaking of which, where are the police? Where no alarms tripped? How can they not know about this?

Shrugging the thoughts away because there are too many, Richie rolls on his skates up to the wall of television screens. His eyes scan from left to right, top to bottom, until they land on the fifth down from the top right.

It's a black-and-white scene, meaning old cameras, but the picture is clear: it's a vault, and it's empty, save for one bleeding body lying on the cold stone floor.

The murky brown worry-sludge turns into watery sewage soup as Richie's knees buckle from underneath him. He falls to the floor, the first thought seeping into his brain being an icy, hurtful one: _He's already dead._

"No!" Richie roars as he tears off his helmet and listens to it's echo as it hits the control table below the screens. "No, no, _no!_"

It can't be. It's simply _cannot _be. There's no way that Virgil let himself get beat so bad. There's no way that he's dead. It must be a trick. It _has to _be a trick. Because if it isn't, something in Richie might break clean in half, never to be mended again.

His breathing coming in ragged gasps, Gear stands and replaces his helmet over his sweaty blond hair. He bites his lip and mentally records where the vault is.

And then he's gone, not stopping to look at the burnt man on the floor, only stopping to plug the gas leak. He moves up the chain of stairs by jet-skate until the digit four is painted on the brick before his eyes. He shuts off the jets and rolls in through the door.

This is it. The hallway on the monitor. _And,_ he rationalizes, _if I take a left turn at the T-intersection at the end, I'll come to the vault that Virgil is locked inside of._

With one forward thrust of his leg he's wheeling down the tiled hallway to his destination. As he rounds off on the corner, he meets up with two men in front of the vault. One is a Bang Baby; he wears no mask, only an animalistic face with hair around his jaw and orange eyes with slitted pupils.

_What is with these orange-eyed Metahumans? _Gear puzzles to himself as he launched himself into battle. He doesn't even stop to care that the other baddie is human, but wielding an automatic rifle. _Does orange eyes mean that they are immune to the cure sent out a couple months ago? Or does it mean that they're a new breed, and now Bang Babies at all?_

He can't work up the energy to theorize now, however. He's too damn determined to get inside of that vault, to feel Virgil's pulse and touch his face and make sure that he's going to be fine.

Gear throws three Zap Caps, the kind full of harder-than-concrete goo that he whipped up himself. One of the Caps falls flat on the ground and hardens on the tiling. But another hits the ceiling, raining the homemade cement down on the human. And then the last one hits the animal-guy square in the chest, freezing him in place, his elongated claws (they must be at least half a foot long!) outstretched but going nowhere.

The genius smirks to himself, part of it from the relief and pride, and most of it from the hysteric concern welling up in his body. But he shakes it off and moves onto the vault door, Backpack easily hooking up to it's code pad and overriding it's circuitry.

Then, _finally, _Richie is free to burst into the iron vault and race to Static's side.

_No one's around. It's alright to call him by his first name,_ Richie thinks to himself. "Vi-" But then he remembers about the monitors, and how everything is taped. He stops himself mid-breath as he takes the superhero into his arms, lifting the limp, heavy body onto his lap. "Static," he stresses, his voice higher than usual. The harsh ache of tears string the backs of his eyes. "Static, c'mon, you can't be dead! Please, don't die on me..." He bends down, his head resting on the black boy's chest. He hears the lowest whisper of air entering and leaving a pair of lungs. And, alongside it, the dull thumping of a beating heart.

Relief sweeps through him, but it's merely temporarily as the warmth of blood heats his thigh. He glances down, gently turning his love to find the gash in his side, and the probability of broken ribs.

"Oh…" Richie breathes out, the tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm so sorry that I didn't get here in time," he chokes. Sniffling once, he stands, Virgil's weight being brought into his arms. "I'm going to get you out of this, man, if it's the last thing I do."

"Rich…" Virgil answers, the slur in his tone indicating that he's barely conscious. It could even be subconscious, like talking in one's sleep due to voice recognition.

"That's right," Gear murmurs to him as he stumbled on his skates upon exiting. "And I'm here for you, one-hundred percent."

It appears that he isn't sleep-talking after all, because the next thing Static says is, "'N walk," as if saying, 'I can walk.'

"Don't worry, I got ya," Gear replies. He finds his own statement rather hypocritical, because it sounds as if he has nothing to worry about, when in truth, he is nothing but worried.

"Let me walk," Static groans a second later.

Torn, Richie decides to set his boyfriend down, because in all honesty, he was getting hard to carry. "Okay, but lean on me. No, not on my left; your right side is wounded. Here, come to my right; that way your arm won't be reaching up and ultimately stretching that gash." He guides the mocha teen along, weaving him around the stilled criminals and solidified puddle of Zap Cap cement.

It takes them a while, but soon they're on the elevator down to the main floor. It's a short ride, but in the quiet of the elevator (the music is somehow absent, for which Richie is glad), Richie noticed precisely how banged-up Virgil is. He's ashen and sweating from the pain, and there are small cuts along his arms. His jacket is torn in multiple places, all with the same cut patterns. _The animal-Metahuman, _Richie realizes. _He must've been fighting the animal-like Metahuman._ And worse, the blood splattered everywhere; it's like something out of a horror film, only in this scary movie, Richie knows it's real and it's serious and that the leading character is the most important person in his life. He winces as this dawns on him, and out of instinct, holds Virgil closer.

"I'm going to leave you somewhere safe while I take care of the rest of the robbers and call the police," Gear says in a strict voice. It's all he can do to keep the conflicting emotions off of his face.

Static glances up at him. "No… I need to help you. I'm hurtin' pretty bad, but I still have power. I can –"

"Shut up, V," Gear grumbles. "I won't have you getting hurt again. It's alright if they hurt me, but they made a huge mistake when they hurt you. It's payback time now."

"What d'ya mean, it's alright if they hurt you?!" Static retorts, but the raise in his voice turns into a groan as the outburst angers his wounds. He hisses out between clenched teeth, "I would never forgive myself if you got turned into minced meat like me."

Richie almost wants to laugh. The elevator doors open before a weak chuckle slips out. The two hobble out of the lift and into a hallway. There are voices nearby, shouting over stomping boots. The bad guys are on the move toward their getaway.

"Stay here!" Gear orders as he sets Virgil down on the floor. "I'm going to end this." And he runs, his skates flying across the floor. He can't afford further damage to anybody. _This has to stop._

He catapults himself into the chaos, the night vision on his helmet returning as he flips it on and watches blurs rush by. The masked ones carrying bags of money become his targets.

"What?! When'd he get here?" one of the criminals yell as they spot Gear and halt in front of him. The criminal panics, his head looking between his fleeing friends (some of them slowing to see what he meant) and Gear. It doesn't take long for him to realize that he's met his match. He drops the bag of cash and raises his hands in defense. "L-look, we ruffed up your friend, but if you want to know where he is –"

"I already found him, thanks!" Gear snaps as he grabs the man by the shirt. He pushes him to the ground and throws a Zap Cap at him. Metal wires spring out and cocoon the stricken robber, his arms and legs bound together.

And then Richie whips around to face the others. Hostages around them glance up, curious to see what the teenager will do.

And oh boy, does he have a show for them.

He flies into the air and rushes three of the robbers, their bags of money flying and untying in the air. As the dollar bills cascade down like twirling helicopters from trees in the fall, Gear hogties them together in a heap, a tiny part of him astounded that it feels so easy. But these three are merely human, so it isn't too much of a surprise.

One still races for the front entrance, panicking noises escaping his lips. Gear wheels over to him and cuts him off before he reaches the doors. "And just where do you think you're going, mister?" he grins darkly.

"Um… into a police car?" the man shrieks. Gear can tell that he doesn't want to be bound like his pals behind them. Too bad.

"Wow, so the bad guy learns," Gear says sarcastically. He takes out his final Zap Cap, another of the cement kind. And he slams it down on the floor between them, and soon the criminal is rendered helpless like the rest.

And suddenly, Gear notices, he's done. Just like that.

Backpack jumps down form his back and clicks over on his quadrupeds to a light switch. It plugs itself into the switch and turns on enough lights to give the hostages some insight as to what happened. As Gear walks over to the closest victim (a woman in a red suit jacket with a black skirt) and asks to borrow her cell phone to call the police, he glances up to find Static hunched in the doorway, gazing at him with a jaw slacked in awe.

Richie freezes, blinking in the other teen's direction. "On second thought," he says before he takes the offered phone, "Why don't you call them? I need to get Static some medical care."

The woman follows Gear's line of sight. "Oh, dear. Maybe I should call an ambulance?"

"No, just the police," Richie murmurs to her as he starts to drift toward his boyfriend. "If you explain the situation, an ambulance will come naturally."

The woman nods and begins to dial nine-one-one, but Richie isn't paying attention. He skates over to Virgil, the light squeaks form his wheels sounding somehow louder in his ears. "V," he whispers, "How are you feeling?"

Virgil rests his head against his left forearm on the doorframe leading into the elevator hallway. "Not too great," he pants. "I feel dizzy."

"It's the blood loss," Richie tells him. "You should lie down."

"No," Virgil replies stubbornly, "If I do, I'm afraid that I won't wake up."

"Then come over here; we can sit down on that bench by the window until the cops show up," he suggests lightly.

The mocha teen offers a tired smile. His mask slips a bit from his sweating forehead, the white rim drooping over his left eye. "Okay," he complies. Virgil lets Richie drape one arm over his white shoulders, and as soon as they sit down, Virgil doesn't hesitate in lying his head on Richie's chest. He touches Richie's thigh lightly with a gloves finger. "Are you hurt?" he asks.

"Er, no; that's your blood," Gear replies lamely. He wants so badly to remove his helmet and Static's mask so that he can kiss his face. Now that the worry is fading, relief is settling in. But some of the concern lingers due to Virgil's physical condition.

"Oh," the electric superhero sighs. "Man, they really did a number on me, huh?"

"Yeah, you really got your ass whooped," Richie says, knowing how much his boyfriend wants to lighten the mood. So he plays along, all the while silently hoping that the ambulance gets here before Virgil conks out.

A hitch in breath indicates a small laugh. "Yeah. Note-to-self: don't fight tiger people."

"Or plant people," Richie adds.

Virgil raises his head a bit. "Plant people?"

"I encountered one in the basement while looking for you. The guy had vine whips as arms."

"Get out," Virgil answered tiredly. "Like what Plant Man can do in the comics?"

"Yup, only this guy was a villain."

"That sucks for us," Virgil says dimly. The blood loss is getting to him. "I wonder… how he managed… to stay a Bang Baby. The others, too."

"I think it has something to do with their orange eyes," Richie muses aloud as he uses his teeth to pull off one of his gloves. He combs a hand through Virgil's hair, not caring what any of the post-hostages thought of the intimate gesture. The blond knows how much it calms Virgil, and at the moment, he needs the calmness.

"Trippy," the mocha teens whispers, commenting on the freaky-factor of bright orange eyes. His own eyes close. His head tilts, becoming heavier on Richie's chest.

"Static, are you asleep?" he inquires softly.

And that's when the sirens scream in Richie's ears, and he knows that he doesn't have to have the answer, because Virgil is going to be all right.


	10. Oblivious Shade of White

**A/N: Ohmigod, the fluff in this chapter is stronger than the little VR drabble I posted yesterday, 'Not Lost, Merely Misplaced'. Seriously, I want to hang myself from the string of cotton candy fluff that is this chapter. I need to write more angst or something. GAWD.**

**But hopefully you'll enjoy it as much as my inner fangirl did while writing it. :D**

**OH! And all the poems are by me, made specifically for this drabble. So no stealing, LOL.**

* * *

_.:Oblivious Shade of White:._

Virgil can't believe what he stumbled across.

He's at Richie's house, which in itself is becoming an increasingly regular thing thanks to Mr. Foley's slow-building acceptance of 'those people'. And while Richie is in the shower (_"Oh, V, you're a little earlier than I thought; can you hold on a sec while I hop in the shower?"_), Virgil decides to entertain himself by perusing the items around Richie's desk, mainly the new blueprints he's been sketching.

Yet during his little escapades, the mocha teen found a college composition book with sewn pages, and inside of it, short drabbles in poem format. At first, he wasn't sure if he should read the poetry. That kind of stuff is personal. But after scanning the first poem, his attention was caught. Now he's sitting down and reading through every last one.

"Richie's super-brain must've come up with these; there's no way in hell he was a poet before," Virgil muses to himself. He flips back to the first poem and re-reads it. Unlike a majority of the others, it has no title at the top. It simply dives right into the following lines:

_It's impossible to describe  
__The feeling and vibe  
__I get when you touch me,  
__No matter how briefly._

_It's what goes through my mind  
__When you appear from behind  
__To startle me and laugh at how  
__I'm such a 'scaredy cat, _meow!_'_

_But I know you're only teasing  
__Because your reasoning  
__Rarely goes beyond making a joke.  
__But would you choke  
__On your own words  
__If you knew  
__How I felt about you?_

"I wonder who he's talking about," the electric superhero puzzles aloud as he flips to a more recent poem. "It could be random, though. I know that some poets write based off of other people's experiences instead of their own. Haha, wait; I think I just called him a poet. Nah, Richie's no poet; not yet, anyway. He needs to write more than one book."

One of the newer poems scribbled about halfway through the notebook goes like this:

_BALANCE_

_Black and white  
__Coincide  
__Like yin and yan.  
__Yet they must hide  
__Because no one would approve  
__Of the contrast  
__In every groove.  
__Still,  
__White and black  
__Lay separate and equal  
__Neither knowing what they lack  
__Because they need each other  
__As balance for one another  
__Even if they can't see it._

Virgil continues flipping, coming across all sorts of poems. One or two of them deal with something scientific, like a wonder of the universe, but most of them are like the first; sweet, loving, but unrequited. It makes Virgil a bit sad, because after reading two more poems like this to total about eleven similar ones, he knows that it's a real experience that Richie is writing from.

"Except," Virgil frowns, "Who's he crushin' on so badly?"

Here are the two that tipped the scale:

_LIKE AN EXPERIMENT _

_Have you ever stopped  
__What you were doing  
__In order to observe  
__Someone nearby?_

_Have you ever noticed  
__How it's like a science experiment  
__In which you mustn't interfere  
__And yet you really want to?_

_Have you ever noticed  
__How that person moves  
__So clumsily,  
__So carefully,  
__And always with a determined frown?_

_Have you ever stopped  
__To imagine  
__What it would be like  
__If you changed part of the experiment  
__By telling that person one day  
__That their lip twitches when they're confused or frustrated,  
__Or that their eyes narrow when they're irritated  
__Or that their hair slips from behind their ears  
__When they're trying too hard at something?_

_Have you ever been curious  
__To see what they'd do  
__If you said those three dangerous words  
__Directly to their face  
__While staring into their deep brown eyes?_

_Well I can tell you  
__That I've felt these things  
__And have been tempted by an experiment of my own  
__Only I can't act on more than they give me  
__Because I'm merely a scientist  
__In observation  
__Of his favorite subject._

And then there is this one, the other that's making Virgil's eyebrow raise in sheer interest:

_CONTACT_

_It's miniscule,  
__The contact you provide.  
__And yet each touch  
__Sends me on a vertical ride._

_It can be seemingly nothing  
__Like a hand on my shoulder  
__Or an arm brushing against my own  
__Or a fist bumping my fist  
__Or your face close to mine  
__As your arm loops over my back to the other shoulder._

_Time after time  
__You don't realize  
__How much  
__Your touch  
__Affects me.  
__I theorize  
__About what it would be like  
__If our lips made contact –  
__How would you react?  
__Would you pull away  
__Never to speak to me again?  
__Would you come by the next day  
__And pretend it never happened?  
__I don't know what I'd do  
__If I ever lost you._

_So if that means  
__That I have to wait  
__For each new opportune gate  
__That you open with a touch,  
__Then I will.  
__Because, in a way,  
__Each little touch  
__Is enough  
__For me to have my fill._

It's strange how Richie's mind works if he thinks that this person would reject him. Clearly he loves everything about this person (there's even a poem to match this statement), and cares enough about their relationship not to wreck it. But in Virgil's eyes, whoever this person is must be someone who's terribly oblivious when it comes to signs of affection, because Richie really feels for them.

"I wish I knew who it was," the mocha teen shrugs as he sets the book down, "Because maybe I could help Richie hook up with them."

It's at this point that the blond chooses to reenter the room, a towel around his shoulders to stop his still-dripping hair from wetting his shirt. "'S up, V-man?" he greets casually. "Hope you weren't bored outta your mind."

"No, actually; I wasn't," Virgil smiles. He instantly makes the decision to question Richie about his poems; there has to be some way that Virgil can help his best friend get together with the oblivious mystery person. "'Cause I found your poetry notebook and read it while you were scubbin' away. Dude, I didn't know you could write like that!"

He watches as Richie's face drops into a panicked expression, his cheeks turning paler than usual. "You… you read those?" he murmurs, his voice cracking a bit at the end.

"Yeah, all of them! Wait, was I not supposed to? I'm sorry if they were super personal or something, but I thought that they were good. Good for, y'know, a dorky non-literature Brainiac like yourself," he jokes playfully. He cocks his head at Richie, whom he realizes isn't looking at him anymore and has a rather peculiar blush across his cheeks and on the tips of his ears. "Hey, who were you talking about in some of those poems, anyways? A lot of them had this unrequited-love feel to 'em, and I personally think that unrequited love bites. So if you tell me, I'm sure I could help fix that."

"No, I don't think you could," Richie says weakly. He scrubs at his scalp furiously, trying to dry his hair faster. It makes the blond locks spike up in all directions, water droplets falling on his glasses.

"Why not?" the mocha teen prods as he grabs Richie's comb off of his dresser. He hands it to Richie and takes the towel from him, all in routine. But this time, Richie seems to be handling things differently. He jerks back, mumbling something about doing it himself. Virgil's brows meet above the bridge of his nose. "You okay, Rich? You're acting weird. Is it 'cause I read your poems? I said I was sorry," he says, his voice rising slightly and his eyes narrowing in irritation.

There are times when Richie wonders precisely how dense one person can be. Honestly, if Virgil read his poems and is remaining oblivious to the fact that they're about him (a few of them even mentioned his brown eyes! And 'Balance' spoke relatively opening about _black and white_, which so clearly is the two of them, since Richie doesn't associate much with any other African Americans), then Richie thinks that maybe it's time to tell the truth.

"It's not that you _read_ the poems," the blond clarifies as he brings his gaze to his best friend's face, "It's that you read them and that _can't figure it out_. I mean, it's embarrassing enough to have the person you like read about how much you gush over them like a preteen girl, but it's even worse when that person doesn't comprehend that it's _them_ in the damn poems!"

Virgil takes a step backward, his mind blown. "Wha– are you _serious?_" he croaks out, an oddly warm sensation flowing throughout his body. Richie is in love with… him? For real? That's crazy! So crazy that he doesn't want to believe it, that he should laugh and congratulate Richie on pulling such a good prank, hahaha, but it would be wrong if he did that. Without having to question it, despite already doing so out of shock, Virgil knows that it's true. It all makes sense now; the sentimental looks Richie sends him sometimes when he thinks Virgil isn't looking, the way he responds when Virgil calls his name and he doesn't expect it, the way Richie gets jealous and flustered when Virgil forgets about their plans due to yet another girl… and the way the poems are written; it's as if Richie is in love with the person closest to him in life, someone so close that he never wants to lose them. And who else is that close to Richie other than Virgil himself?

It's like a piano being dropped on his head. The mocha teen blinks rapidly before softening his features and taking a step forward again, inching closer to the blond he's known practically his entire life, closer to the one person he's been too blind to notice holds the deepest of feelings for him.

Richie is blank-faced, waiting, hoping, cursing. Waiting for what Virgil is going to say/do, hoping this doesn't ruin their friendship because he can't live without Virgil around, and cursing himself for letting his secret be produced for his own mouth, as well as cursing himself for leaving his composition book out in the open where Virgil could find it.

"I feel like such a dumbass," Virgil says finally. He takes Richie's hand, which feels familiar and yet foreign inside of his own. "A totally thick-headed dumbass. I figure criminal stuff out pretty quickly, and yet I didn't notice some of the more obvious signs you were putting out there? I'm such a dumbass," he repeats, and he pulls himself closer using their conjoined hands. He places his forehead against Richie's warm temple, the moisture lingering from Richie's shower leaking into Virgil's dark hairline.

No longer reining in his urges, Richie brings up his other hand to clutch Virgil's sleeve as he turns his head to ghost his lips over the darker teen's. He leans back a little to pose, "So you're not… going to reject me, then?"

"Of 'course not, Richie," Virgil says softly, a teeny smile playing on the corners of his mouth. "I would never hurt you like that."

"But V, you don't have to…" he drifts off, lost for words. He tries again. "I mean, you don't like guys, so –"

"But I like you," Virgil replies honestly. He lifts his head to look his friend in the eye. "Think about it for a minute: there's no one out there as close as we are. We're always on the same page, even if we're in the middle of a fight, because in the end we always make up again when most guys would say 'screw him' and stomp off for good. But not us. We share toothbrushes when the other forgets to bring one, and trade clothes if we get bored of what we have. We like all the same things, even if we disagree on a couple others, but we respect the differences and move on, like any real couple would. I think, without meaning to, I've been getting into the habit of being with you even if we aren't _together, _together. So if you love me so badly that you have to get it out of your system y writing poetry of all things, then I'd be the world's biggest, cold-hearted asshole for not giving you a chance." He flashes a grin. "Plus, you're worth it, Rich. I don't think I could function properly without you, both as Virgil Hawkins and Static Shock. I need you there."

He hadn't meant to make Richie cry. But as he finished his little speech, he was swiping his brown fingers across Richie's heated cheeks from under his glasses to stop the onslaught of saltwater. Then, without warning, the blond moved in to give Virgil the strangest kiss he's ever received. Strange solely because Richie's mouth is Richie's mouth, and not Daisy's or Frieda's or any other girls', or any other boys', for that matter.

It's also strange because Virgil doesn't know if he loves Richie the same way. He's not even sure if he wants to kiss Richie, but it's already happening, so he can't back out without hurting Richie's feelings. So he goes with the flow, hoping that he doesn't regret it all later, seeing as how he already has enough regret for being so pathetically oblivious.

A bizarre thought crosses Virgil's mind as the blond removes his lips: _The color – no, it's more of a shade like my elementary art teacher explained to us – white always meant a lot of different things to me; it meant purity, it meant snow, it meant not having any thoughts, it meant the oblivion known as limbo, it meant hospital walls, it meant naivety, it meant hope, and it meant wedding dresses. But now, I think, aside from the obvious like being the difference between Richie's skin and my own, white is a shade of being clueless, which is one thing I don't want to be again._


	11. Conflicted Shades of Grey

**A/N: I've written something vastly similar to this before, except shorter less complicated and for Naruto (he was choosing between Hinata and Gaara; you can probably guess which won out in the end~ ;D ).**

**On a side note, I finished making two CMVs (cartoon music videos), one a sad song (that I mentioned in Indigo; 'A New Hope') about Virgil's mother's death, and the other a hard-rock-love song ('Shadows' by Red) for Virichie. I have yet to post them on youtube, mainly because youtube is being a dick with uploading my files. I also made a third video, only it's a collection of Static Shock clips with funny comments as I point out how canon this slash pairing truly is. I'll try to get all three videos posted soon, and when I do, I'll link them for you guys so that you can see them. Or, if you prefer, you can check for yourself by going to the youtube account I listed in my profile on here. :3**

**Anyway, enjoy the drabble! Next is black, and then gold and silver (the latter of which I'm still dying to write for!). :D**

_

* * *

_

_.:Conflicted Shades of Grey:._

It used to be Frieda. And before her, other girls. Most recently, it's a science whiz by the name of Daisy.

I met her when I got accepted into a very prestigious school with extremely brilliant students. Of 'course, things went downhill as soon as I walked in through the front doors, but when doesn't that happen? Specs and Trapper are old news, but Daisy isn't. She came to Dakota Union High after the whole ordeal. She hangs out with Frieda half the time, but the other half of the time she's with me. And Richie.

That's where things get complicated. There's always the two of them, Richie and Daisy, Daisy and Richie. A good ninety-nine percent of the time, I can't decide which friend I would rather chill with.

Because Richie is constantly free, readily available at a moment's notice. Richie doesn't have anyone else besides me, however, which is the reason for this. It's a bit pathetic, really, but it's because I reached out to him first when we were growing up. Despite his bold actions in public, Richie is pretty shy when it comes to making friends. So I know that I have Richie to fall back on if I need to. But on occasion I ditch the blond for Daisy, and later on, I get bit in the ass because of my decision. And not always by Richie; sometimes Daisy is the one to scold me, reminding me that I should stick to my original plans, no matter who they're with.

But I can't help it. I don't hang with Daisy as often as Richie (as to why, I'm not entirely sure; maybe it's the lack of familiar years? Maybe it's because she's a girl?), so when Daisy offers, I like to take it, and automatically forgetting any plans I might already have.

It's wrong and I know it. All too well, unfortunately.

Yet, what is there to do? I like them both. I like Daisy, but also like Richie. So how can I choose between them every time? In the end, I end up shorting two people: whoever I denied, and then myself.

I like Daisy because she has a brain that she uses to it's full potential, and wears outfits that cling to her just right without being revealing, and accepts my quirky behavior and laughs at my jokes.

I like Richie because he's been a genius in certain ways even before he became a Bang Baby, and he has the most adorable tendency to adjust his glasses when he's nervous or feels awkward, and not only does he take me for everything I am, including my flaws, and he returns my jokes with witty remarks of his own.

There's so much more, though. Such a vast count that it swarms my mind at night, going 'round and 'round in circles with one fact per friend per second, each sounding as appealing as the next.

Things like… the fact that Daisy knows that I have a secret, but she respects me enough not to pry about what it is. And then there's the fact that Richie knows my secret, and shares it, and has a secret of his own.

But then again, Daisy has something new to say every time we meet, and doesn't get overly giggly and girly like Frieda does. And, of 'course, Richie isn't girly or giggly at all because he might be gay, but he's not a girl.

And there's that, too. Richie being homosexual. It throws me off, because it makes me question my own sexuality. I think girls look nice, but Richie's body looks nice, too. I would know; we have gym together, and on occasion, we're forced to hit the showers. And Richie always gets easily embarrassed because he doesn't like being nude in front of people, and lately I've been having to reassure him more than usual and stick up for him when we do because now the whole school knows that Richie's gay, and the guys don't want to be around him, either.

But I know Richie. He doesn't get hot and bothered, and he actually could care less because he doesn't like any of the guys we have gym with.

He doesn't, because he likes me.

Daisy likes me, too. She told me, and she's kissed me, and I enjoyed it while it lasted, but part of me felt guilty afterwards, wondering if Richie would be hurt if and when he found out.

Because Richie's kissed me before, too, only it was on accident, and he felt bad about it and apologized over and over, but I told him that it was cool, because I knew he didn't mean it. Thing is, secretly, I enjoyed that, too. It felt different than Daisy, and not only because his lips are shaped differently and feel differently. It's because Richie is Richie and not Daisy, and because Richie is my closest friend and another boy and it's all so complicated because afterwards I felt guilty, thinking that Daisy would be hurt if and when she found out.

I'm caught between two people. And I can't pick one, because if I do, I'll hurt the other and ultimately hurt myself.

But I have to choose sometime soon, because this double-jeopardy game I'm playing can't continue on forever. Eventually, things will come down to sex and love and marriage, since high school is ending in a few months and we'll be free and legal adults, and preparing for college.

Jeez, I don't want to think about the sex and love and marriage. It's extremely separate for Daisy and Richie, on all accounts.

Sex with Daisy would no doubt be wonderful, and as much as I tell myself not to, sometimes I catch myself imagining it. Problem is, she could get pregnant. But it would be alright, because Daisy is the type of girl who would only have sex with me if we were married first. And in order to be married, she'd have to be in love with me, and I think that I might be in love with her but I'm not sure since I don't love everything about her and half the time my mind isn't on her, it's on my blond best friend.

Sex with Richie would be strange, but not awful. I also don't doubt that it would be wonderful, too, except not the same. Problem is, he might think of it differently than a one night stand or drunken mistake, if it came to that. He could think all kinds of things, and for some of those things, I wish he would instead think of it as a one night stand or drunken mistake because some of those other things are hurtful, like me using him or experimenting or taking advantage of his sexuality and crush on me. And as for the marriage part, well, it's not legal. And as for the love… well, that's the worst of it, because I don't think it's a little crush. He never said anything, but I've picked up on the signs and I know that he feels for me other than friends or brothers-from-other-mothers. I think he actually loves me, like really love-loves me, because even though we get into fights, our fights are like an old couple's, and we always make up in the end because we make each other happy and in a bizarre, twisted way, we need each other.

Hmm. I never realized just how much more there is to a relationship with Richie than there is with Daisy. Why is that? Is it because girls and boys are meant to be together, and that it's simple, and in many ways, fleeting? Is it because I can have any girl that it makes Daisy seem smaller in comparison?

It must be all these things, because I can't think of anything else. It makes sense. It makes sense that Richie is the only guy I'll ever have eyes for because he's special, and he's much closer to me than Daisy, and he's… I dunno. He's just Richie. That's all he ever is and all he'll ever be, and somehow, I'm down with that.

Thinking on it, I'm not as down with Daisy because girls show a cranky, bitter side to themselves as soon as you marry them, even if they're sweet to their kids. They get bitchy and whiny and envious. Okay, so many Richie gets a little jealous sometimes, but he eventually cools off and moves on. Girls don't; they hold grudges and use passive-aggressive means to get back at you. Sure, girls turn you into a Pop, but there's always adoption, I suppose. But how can I even have time for a family like that when I'm going to be going into the Justice League soon (Batman told me with certainty that nineteen years old is old enough, maybe even eighteen if I shape up well enough by then, which I think I have), so I'll be busy and traveling and risking my life. How can my family deal with that?

So I guess I'm finally realizing how realistic hooking up with Richie can be. Odd, I never got this far in my musings in the past… but I suppose it's better this way, because prom is coming up and I need to go with someone, because as fun as being with a group of friends in my junior year was, I want to try the date thing this time around. And if I choose Richie, I'll be wounding Daisy and wounding myself, but at least I'll have made a decision and can take that time to "come out" as a gay even though I don't feel gay, I just feel like… Well, that I want Richie.

Whoa, weird. I'm saying that I want my best friend to be… be my… uh, boyfriend. Hmm, that's hard to even think; imagine how I'm finally going to explain it to him!

I wonder how long he's been waiting for me to come around. Hell, for all I know, it was love at first sight for him, even though we were pretty damn young. Who knows? All I know is, I'm going to have a thorn in my heart for a while as I let go of my feelings for Daisy, but maybe it was nothing more than a mutual attraction to begin with, and what I have with Richie has been slow-building, and not some sudden realization, as much as it seems like one.

So, taking a deep breath, I puzzle out how I'm going to tell them. How I'm going to explain this to Daisy is the hardest, because with Richie, I'm thinking that three words will suffice. Or four, depending on which middle word I use ("I love you!" "I really like you!"). Hopefully, I'll have the guts to use solely the first three.


	12. Disgruntled Shade of Black

**A/N: Ah, this fic is almost over! Only Gold and Silver left to go. But at least ya'll have my new drabble series for the same pairing posted with three chapters already. It's called "Others Can Say It Better Than I". Real cute stuff in there, fluff and angst and all. Whoo!**

**On another note, those videos I was talking about before? Yeah, two of the three are posted. So if ya wanna go to my profile and check them out on my youtube (I'm too lazy to link them right now. Sorry), they're both Static Shock related. Have fun. :D**

**Oh! And more self-promotion: I doodled some Virichie art and posted it on my dA account, link aso available on my profile. I ain't the best artist, mind you, but I ain' too shabby either. Expect anime-style. ;D**

**#is an internet attention whore# **

**It's not _my _fault if I wanna share my Virichie obsession with ya'll readers! D:**

_

* * *

_

_.:Disgruntled Shade of Black:._

"Stupid calculator!" he belted as he threw the accursed contraption across the gas station.

As Virgil walked in from his patrol shift for the evening, he quickly skittered to the left as the mathematical device was launched his way. "Whoa, Rich! What'd the calculator ever do to you?" he teased as he picked up the offended object and brushed off some of the dirt and scuff marks. He then tore off his mask and ruffled his hair as he slid off his black, blue, and yellow Static jacket.

"It's batteries ran out right when I was in the middle of a formula," the blond growled as he tipped back in his chair and folded his arms. He tossed his pencil down angrily. "Mind giving it some juice for me?"

"Mind saying 'please'?" the other retorted with a lopsided grin. He set the calculator down on the worktable. "In fact, mind saying anything at all that isn't coated in heavy sarcasm or roughed up by your grumpy attitude? It's like everything is pissing you off today, and it's not like you, Richie. You're acting like Hotstreak; or me on a really, really bad say," the black teen mused as he sat down on the edge of the table to face his companion.

Richie blew at his bangs, which were getting a tad unruly and long lately. "So? Can't a guy be moody and disgruntled every so often?" He tipped forward, his chair nearly colliding with Virgil's knee. "Besides, it's not like normally some perfectly easygoing person."

"Actually, you kind of are that way normally," Virgil disagreed as he hopped down from the work table and lifted the abused pencil. "So what's eatin' ya, Rich? I'm all ears, if you want to tell."

"It's nothing important," Richie sighed as he reached under his glasses to wipe the sweat there and rub the slight headache behind his eyes. "It's just brain-boy getting frustrated over his new invention idea."

"Do go on," Virgil said in a fake wealthy-Brit tone. He waved a hand drolly for effect.

Richie snorted. "Nah, I'll only melt your puny head with big words. Just forget it, V."

He rolled his eyes. "Puh-leeze, Rich. You know I'm great with chemistry and science and all that jazz. I think I can handle a few big words."

"All right then," Richie said slowly, "I'll explain to you the complications of quantum physics and how it has rules that are not meant to be broken, and yet my smarty-aleck brain came up with a loophole on how to disengage a few of said rules in order to duplicate Time Zone's power and essentially travel backwards and forwards in time without altering the present time stream and instead creating an alternate reality. Except I don't know how to write the proper formula to make modern technology accomplish my theory."

Virgil blinked a few times. "I think I got what you said, but to make sure, can you start over at 'quantum physics'? And this time, can you define it?"

Richie's palm promptly met up with his face. "God, V, I even used the simplest terms I could think of, and you still didn't get it?"

To that, the mocha teen merely laughed. "I got it alright. I just wanted to screw with you. Seeing you get all pissy is a helluva lot of fun for me."

"Tch, glad I could entertain you," Richie snapped with a click of his tongue. He spun around in his chair and stood, stretching out his weary muscles. "Listen, I'm going to head home. I need to rest my head. I'll have Backpack with me in case of trouble. See ya."

"Now hold up just a minute," Virgil frowned as he stepped in front of his friend, whom was trying to get his hooded sweatshirt on. He yanked it off. "Is that really the only thing that's got you in a bad mood? 'Cause it don't seem like to me that some little technology problem could get you worked up, Rich. Seems to me that the problem you brought up has a simple answer: if modern technology doesn't suit your needs, you can just create you own, newer technology. So what's up, huh, bro? What's really goin' on in your little skull?"

"A headache," the other shrugged. "So I'm going to go home, take some meds, and go to bed. No biggie."

"Yes biggie," Virgil argued. He was still standing in Richie way, the sweatshirt in his dark hand. "You hate medicine. You can hardly take the liquid stuff, and you gag on pills. So you're going to go home and suffer all by your lonesome while you work out a different problem, the real problem. So I'm gonna ask you again, Richie: what's goin' on?"

"How come I can never hide anything from you?" the blond grinded out as he forced down the urge to sigh in defeat. He snatched his sweatshirt back and slipped it over his head, making sure to catch his glasses before they fell off his nose. An involuntary smile tweaked Virgil's lips at this action, because it was a brief moment when Richie's everyday actions made him seem cutely clumsy. He would never admit this to anyone, however.

"'Cause I know you better than anyone else in the world," Virgil stated as if it was common knowledge. "And 'cause I get that way, too. I ignore the problem and make others ignore it, too, when it's secretly eating away at me."

Richie ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess you have a point." He let out the sigh he'd been holding. "Okay, look. It's something stupid, which makes it all the more annoying, and also all the more hilarious. To you, anyway. So you gotta promise me that you won't laugh."

"I swear, dude. You can count on me."

"I know," the blond said at length, "Which is why you'll never pry this out of me otherwise." He took a deep breath. "Here goes: all day I've been thinking about how I have this terrible habit of chewing my cuticles when I'm thinking, and how it tears up the skin around my nails and makes my hands look ugly. And how I wanna stop, 'cause who likes ugly hands? But I can't stop, and the more I thought about it, the more I kept lifting my fingers to my mouth, and nibbling. It's gross, and weird, and such a lame habit. And while I worked, I kept seeing how bad it was and it got me madder and madder. So I put band-aids on my fingertips, but without realizing it until later, I ended up chewing them off with my teeth and started gnawing at my cuticles again. How crazy is that?"

Virgil stifled the raising lump of laughter in his throat. He wasn't laughing at Richie's habit, but rather, his fretting over his habit. Because, little did Richie know, that finger-to-mouth impulse of his happened to be one of the quirky things about the blond that Virgil found charming. Again, this is another thing he would never admit out loud. And if he did, then Permafrost must've moved to the center of the Earth, 'cause hell would freeze over before he said anything about it.

"Not too crazy," Virgil supplied as an answer as he coughed into his hand to clear the chuckle form his throat. "But you know, it's not bad thing, what you do to your hands. Gives 'em character. You might not bite your nails or twirl your hair like some folks, and you might be a little cannibalistic for essentially eating yourself, but it's all cool, man. It's just, y'know, one of the things that make you, you. Look at me for example: like my dad, I tend to rub my neck or scratch the back of my head when faced with something uncomfortable or confusin'. And when I laugh too hard, I always have to slap something out of reflex. So, there you go. Weird habits that are annoying and stupid, but it's all part of being human."

Richie's face immediately brightened. "You know something, V? I think you're right," he said slowly. "Thanks."

"'S nothin', man," he said with a shrug. "As for your headache…" He began with a grin as he walked over to Richie and draped a hand around his shoulders languidly, "Wanna numb it with a Super Slushie from 7-Elven? I'll buy."

"How can I refuse a free brain freeze?" the paler youth returned with a small grin, and his black mood washed away. Virgil had the magic to do that.

"How can anyone?" Virgil agreed. He removed his arm. "Oh, but I also forgot! I'm still in costume. Here, gimme a sec to change, and then we'll motor outta here."

"Fine by me," Richie said weakly. He glanced away, quick to distract himself. As of late, it's been getting harder for him to withstand seeing Virgil with anything less than fully-covering attire. He blamed his hormones.

Within a few minutes, Virgil was beside him again, fully dressed in his street clothes. "Now let's go get us some slushies!" He cheered as he offered his fist for tap.

Richie hit it with his own fist. "Right behind ya, bro," he grinned.


	13. Devoted Gold

**A/N: This oneshot is crazy, I swear. The idea was originally meant to be another mindless fluff incident, but turned into something much more epic, like my 'booya, Gear kickin' arse and takin' names!' drabble earlier on. Except this one got much, much more out of hand. How the hell did that happen?!**

**The final chapter of this should be out withint he next day or so; I want to really take my time on that one sinc eit was such a great idea, so be patient. In the meantime, enjoy these weird one and the little drabbles I have posted in my other collection. **

_

* * *

_

_.:Devoted Gold:._

There is definitely no chance of us emerging from this battle unscratched. And there is possibly no chance of it living through it at all.

The villain we're faced with is unlike any other I have ever heard of. She's like something from a fairy tale, an evil step mother that's so vile you wish she would kick the bucket. Or maybe she's more like a vicious dragon, consuming every creature in her path and blowing flames onto anything near. Whichever she is, she's awful, and probably going to kill us.

She calls herself Morgana, like the bird of death from old myths. And her abilities are impossibly powerful. She can cast flesh-eating locus into the air, can make meteors fall from the sky, can send disease to any part of your body that you dare show. She's like the plagues from Egypt in the Bible, except she's a living person. She has to be a Bang Baby, or some other type of mutant. Or maybe she's not. Maybe she's a demon.

It doesn't matter, though. What matters is defeating her, killing her before she kills us if we have to. Lucky for us, she has this thing against electricity; it hurts her. If Static can get close enough to send a high-voltage charge, then maybe we can fry her. Completely electrocute her body, ceasing her terrorizing rampage over Dakota and half of the cities surrounding it.

It's gruesome, I know. It sounds cruel, but she's murdered so many people already, and we can't afford a single body bag to be added to the growing pile. We're superheroes; it's what we do.

The League is here fighting with us, Batman and Superman and the Flash and J'onn and the Green Lantern and everyone else. They're going in circles around this woman, trying to contain her somehow. They think that if they isolate her, they won't have to kill her. Batman and J'onn are the only ones beside me who know that Morgana needs to be killed. She can't live without wreaking havoc on everything in her path. She's pure evil, not an ounce of humanity in her body. She even told us so.

"I have no mercy for humans," she spat earlier on. "They need to be wiped out. The entire Earth does. It's a dying cause anyway. Look at all the pollution and wars! It's goig to end itself soon, so I might as well put it out of it's misery."

I've never hated someone before, but I know that I hate her. She's a twisted creature, corrupt to the core. And I hate things like that. I can understand if someone is misunderstood. I can understand if someone needs help or has a sliver of goodness in them. But I can't understand Morgana. It's like she enjoys death, craves blood and agony. It's disgusting.

I'm careful to dodge a stream of gas headed in my direction. The gas is a concentrated form of a virus, the kind that generates an illness akin to the Black Plague mixed with Ebola. A grotesque disease that will break down your body within hours, to be sure. It terrifies me.

"Watch it, Gear!" Virgil calls to me. He's stressed out to no end. He knows mainly up to him to stop her, because her weakness is electricity. Moreover, though, he's stressed because out of everyone else, I'm the most vulnerable. I'm not fast like the Flash. I'm not an immune alien like Superman and J'onn. I'm the most human in my abilities, because even Batman has fighting skills and training that I can't compare to, even if my gadgets are more high-tech.

"I'm doing my best here!" I shout to my partner. I toss another grenade Morgana's way. She grins and uses one of her produced fireballs to direct it back at me. I jet out of the way and turn on it's tail to stop it from hitting a person below.

It's torture, this battle. We've been fighting her for nearly eleven hours straight. She won't let up. She doesn't rest, and in turn, doesn't allow us to rest.

I watch as more attacks than I can count fly past all the heroes around me. One of them strikes Hawk Girl, and she falls out of the air, her wings getting singed on the tips and going limp as she drops unconscious. I dive downward, being the closest to her. _She's intoxicated,_ I realize as I grab hold of her flailing arm, slowing her fall as I catch her just before she hits a rooftop. I set her down on the cement gently. I check her pulse, her breathing. She's alive, but comatose. Apparently, that disease affects her differently because she's not necessarily human.

"Gear!" Virgil's voice hollers above me, and I glance upwards. His Static costume is torn and burnt, and even from a distance I can tell that he's panting heavily. I fly up to meet him, and he shakes as he balances himself by leaning over to grip his knees. "I want… you to go," he pants, his eyes staring up into mine. "I can't afford… to have you hurt… by this woman."

"What? No! I'm not going anywhere, Static. You guys need all the help you can get!" I bark at him, desperate to stay. I could never abandon him; not that I'm too prideful to be a coward, because I would totally run from this sort of fight if he wasn't involved. I'm not an idiot; I know when I'm not cut out for something. But leaving now would mean ditching him and not being around to catch him in case he falls. I can't lose him. "I need to be here for this."

"I don't want you to get killed," he murmurs, his face contorting as he draws in a sharp breath.

_My thoughts exactly. I have to be here because I don't want you killed, either. You're all I have, because I don't even care about my own parents as much as I care about you. I left them to become a full-time superhero. But I could never leave you, Virg. _I force a grin. "Come on, what d'ya take me for? I can take care of myself. You just worry about getting close and zapping that bitch," I tell him.

He shakes his head. "I'm serious, Rich," he says sternly, daring to use my real name. "It's too dangerous for you. Get out of here."

"No," I say stubbornly, tilting my chin upwards. "I would never abandon you. I'm hopelessly devoted, man." I raise my left hand in reminder. He knows that under my glove, I'm still wearing the gold class ring he bought for me in our senior year. It was a cliché thing of him to do, but it showed me that he was serious about me, about us. That was two years ago. A lifetime ago now, it feels like. We're twenty-year-olds and practically at death's door, since Morgana thinks of herself as the planet's ultimate end.

He sighs. "I shouldda known better than to try and make you leave," he says as he wipes at the sweat trickling down from under his white eyemask. "Fine, don't save yourself. But if you die, know that I'm gonna be right behind you."

"Stop talking like that," I snap at him. "We're not going to die. Morgana is. So stuff it and follow me. I have a plan."

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing on his neck. "Alright. I trust you."

I lead him blindly forward, curving around to behind Morgana while she attacks one of the Justice League members. I throw one of the restricting Zap Caps her way, and temporarily, she's tied in a web of metal coils strong enough to withhold up to one thousand pounds of pressure. I detached one of the coils before I threw it, thanks to Backpack's quick modification directions sent through the thought command I have set up with it. I hand the coil to Virgil. "Quick, bro! Give this coil all the juice you got!"

It's worth it, if he looses his charge but destroys Morgana. This has gone on for far too long.

Superman, ever the compassionate one, yells for us to stop and flies toward us.

But it's too late. Static sends God knows how many volts of purple-blue electricity through the coils and onto Morgana's body. Her eyes go white as they roll back and she screams the most blood-curdling scream in the history of slasher film screams, and her body convulses. Random bursts of her multiple plague powers shoot out in all directions in a wild frenzied attempt to free herself, or maybe it's all involuntary reaction. Either way, many dots below scurry out of the way, whether they're in an office building or on the street. This entire battle has been moving, so not everyone could evactuate. As I observe Morgana's violent end, I can't help but wish that no one else has to be around to witness it.

With a final zap, Morgana's hair fried off and her body steaming, the coils fall to pieces and her body sags as it heads toward the ground. There's a sickening crunch as her bones break at the contact with the pavement. I flinch, and a couple bystanders below let out a shriek.

I look away from the cracked pavement, dyed a dark purple-green with unknown blood. I wander closer to Virgil, my drifting going unnoticed as he stares, unblinking, as what he's done. He's exhausted, and probably needs a recharge, but knowing Vigil, he feels guilty for killing the strange woman instead of worried about being physically drained and defenseless.

"Whoa," the Flash whistles. "Didn't know you had it in ya to do that, kiddo," he says to Virgil as the younger lands on the street. I'm right behind him.

"V?" I ask softly. "Are you okay? I know I just sorta sprung the plan on you, but I didn't know what else might work."

"No, it was very resourceful of you," he replies shallowly. "You knew that we had to get her from a distance. But…"

"You still wish that you didn't have to murder her," the Green Lantern steps into say as he, too, comes near. "You did good, both of you. It doesn't feel right, but it had to be done. I realized that halfway through all of this."

Superman doesn't look convinced. But as soon as J'onn appears with Hawk Girl's limp body in his green arms, his expression changes. Ever since Wonder Woman died a year ago in space on one of their escapades, Superman's been oddly protective of the lone female member. He comes in close, looking to J'onn for answers.

"She's going to live," the Martian states coolly. "But she will be out of commission for a long while. The gas Morgana hit her with is extremely poisonous to the body. She might not be able to use her wings again, let alone walk, if we do not hurry and flush it out of her system."

"Understood," Superman says in a steely voice. He looks to Virgil. "We have to go, Static. I'm sorry for doubting you, but your decision truly was the right one. Morgana was too destructive to have been let live, no matter where in the universe we could have sent her."

Nodding in agreement, the League left us. As soon as they were gone, Virgil's legs gave out. I caught him, my hand to his chest and on his back. "Static!"

"I need to go home," he groans. He must be sore; getting rid of that much electricity shorts him out, and strains his muscles.

"Okay," I say. "I'll get you there." Back to our apartment near the college. Back to where life makes more sense, where isn't dampened by the heavy wet blanket of deeds done out of supposed heroism.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Virgil hisses between clenched teeth as I drag him down the street. We need to find a place to change in secret, and then we need to get a taxi. We can't fly with the condition we're in. Nor can we remain as Gear and Static while the onlookers are collecting around the space where Morgana's body used to be (I noticed that the League took it with them so not to disturb everyone or let her poisons leak out in an autopsy by the police or government). They all know that Static killed the villain. I'm sure that they're somewhat glad she's gone, since she was a true horror, but very shocked at the same time. I am, too.

"Wait until we're home, so that you can actually pass out afterwards."

Virgil lets out a breathless laugh. "You make it sound like I'm drunk."

"Well, you're not exactly sober," I say honestly. "If you were, you could walk by yourself."

"Point taken," he sighs. After a long while where the silence between us is filled with passing cars and news camera men rushing t the scene we left behind, he says, "You know, I need you a lot more than you can ever guess."

"Why, just because I figure out how plans to defeat big, bad dragon-ladies?" I joke mildly, trying to lift his spirits.

Another curt laugh that's nothing more than spasms of air. "There's that, but I also need you to look after my sorry ass when it's all done and over with. I guess I'm as hopelessly devoted as you are."

I hoist his arm higher up on my shoulders and catch the opposite thigh and I force him into piggy-back. "That's it, I'm flying you home _now._ Was gonna take a cab after we got in our street clothes, but you're delusional." I blast into the air, the added weight difficult to manage, but I can handle it if I'm careful. Virgil is startled by the action and nearly chokes me as his reflexes make his arms wrap around my neck for support.

"Slow down!"

"I am going slow," I grumble. It's a half-truth; I could go slower, but this is already pretty slow since I'm moving as regular speed and yet not going nearly as far or fast as I do without the extra weight.

"Then go slower! I'm gonna fall off at this rate. I'm pretty damn beat right now."

It's rare for him to admit something like that. Usually he makes himself out to be the never-worn SUPER-superhero. I smile despite myself. "Don't worry, V," I tell him, "You're in good hands."


	14. Shining Silver Trauma

**A/N: I am currently in the process of not only doing the twenty drabbles in 'Others Can Say It Better Than I', but I'm also writing up a fishing oneshot and trying to come up with a good full-length story plotline. Because believe me, fellow VR fans, this little obsession of mine is not waning. In fact, it's stirring up quite a lot of ideas, so there should be plenty more to come. I just hope that I'm going to have enough time on the computer to write it all! XD**

**Okay, so here's the final chapter. Something tells me it's not as good as it could be, but oh well, it's still pretty good. No confessions or kissing in this one, sorry, just adorably sweet comfort and plenty of hints, heehe. Enjoy! :D**

_

* * *

_

_.:Shining Silver Trauma:._

It had been so painful, watching Richie go through that whole Brainiac nightmare. Being mind-controlled and having his head and neck covered in metal? It must've been scary, being a host to something like that. Like Brainiac said, Richie saw it all but couldn't do a thing. I don't think I could've been able to handle it. I mean, it was horrible enough to have to deal with my best friend going through it, but it's worse actually having it happen to you. At least I think so.

The second the League left the gas station, Richie murmured that he was going home. At first, I thought nothing of it; he must be totally wiped out, I thought. Even I was, after a battle like that. So I nodded and let him leave before I changed out of my Static clothes and left for home as well. When I got home, Sharon was out and Dad wasn't home yet, so I stewed in the silence and eventually fell asleep.

But when it came time for school the next day, Richie wasn't there. It worried me, because it's not like he caught a virus (sorry, computer pun) in the last day. Worried, I called him with a Shock Vox at lunch by going into the bathrooms and into a private stall.

He didn't answer for a long time. When he finally did, he sounded odd. "Just a cold, Virg. Don't worry 'bout it," he told me.

I knew better. "You always sound congested when you have a cold, and right now you sound pretty clear to me." I lowered my voice an octave just in case someone decided to burst in at the moment I said, "Are you okay, man? It's not from, y'know, what happened yesterday, is it?" Because it was only yesterday that he woke up with a brain not his own and ended up ditching school to go build Brainiac's machines. According to Flash, Richie wasn't even scootering toward the school when he went looking for him.

Richie sighed. "I'll tell you later, when you get back from school," he said.

"Personally, I'd rather ditch and come see what's up right now," I shrugged. I leant back against the side wall of the stall. "You're more important than my geometry test, and I can fake a tummy ache pretty well."

"Do what you want," Richie said nonchalantly, and that's when I knew something was truly wrong. Richie isn't much of a rule-breaker, so to hear him not lecturing me to finish school at least for the test's sake was a huge clue.

I frowned. "I think I'll take you up on that." I paused, quickly forming a plan. "I'll see you in a half, Rich. I'll get Sharon to pick me up, and then I'll sneak out as Static and fly over there."

"You don't have to, I could meet you at the station," he said too quickly. His dad must be home or something. I got the message.

"Alright, the gas station then. See you soon, Rich."

"Mhm," he hummed dully before turning off his Vox with a _chzt _sound. I stuffed my own Vox in my backpack and headed for the nurse's office.

xXx

In half an hour as promised, I showed up at the station as Static. Sharon hadn't been too worried about me; I guess she knew that I was faking it. She probably thinks the reason is my geo test, but realistically, that was only a bonus reason. The true reason was standing in front of me when I walked in.

Richie was a mess. He was pacing back and forth, and seemed to stray away from all the technology around him. His hair was bedraggled, and so were his clothes. In fact, they were the same ones from yesterday, wrinkled from what I assumed was sleep and not a night on the floor of his bedroom. I figured out pretty fast that he went home, fell asleep, woke up and didn't shower or change before I called.

"Rich…" I began as I tore off my mask and goggles and tossed them down with my jacket. I got rid of the Static shirt and gloves as well, since my normal shirt was under it and I was too hot to be wearing so many layers. I literally threw on everything just so I could fly here without being stopped. After all, flying is fastest, and if I were to fly _not_ dressed as Static I would blow my cover.

"I don't like it, V. Not at all," he said immediately, diving straight into the deep end of the panic pool. "I don't like my head being messed with. It was bad enough when Madelyn had those zombie-puppet powers and peeked into my head and found out that you're Static, but for Brainiac to see everything inside me, know it all, and use it to his advantage…"

All his formulas. Info about where all of Alva's supplies and abandoned warehouses are. My weaknesses to defeat me with. I can barely imagine how that must've felt, because my electric powers saved me from Madelyn's powers and Brainiac's mind-control device that even controlled people as strong as the members of the League.

But something told me that these things weren't the only ones he was referring to. "Like what?" I know that when he stepped out of the shadows, wholly possessed, I realized how much he meant to me, and how I didn't want to lose him, especially not to some alien scumbag. With desperate pleading to get him back, I realized how much I love Richie.

He blinked at me, his expression unreadable. "Nothing," he said hurriedly. "Personal stuff of no importance. Still, I hate my head being poked around in. And now I can't go near Backpack, 'cause I'm afraid that Brainiac's still in there. And I don't want to touch anything else electronic, 'cause I'm afraid he might be lurking in another computer. And it's stupid, because my super-brain tells me that I have PTSD, but I don't want to have post-traumatic stress disorder. It shouldn't bother me this much! I shouldn't be scarred by some alien computer-hacking virus incident, and yet I am. I'm shaking, Virgil. Look." He held out a hand, his fingertips quivering uncontrollably. His cerulean orbs were darting back and forth nervously.

I can still remember how shocked I had been when those eyes were turned into a glowing green, completely absent of Richie. A shudder ran through me. I came in close, and steadied his hand with both of my own. He stared down at the cluster of hands, as if he couldn't feel that his own was between mine. "It's gonna be okay, Rich," I told him earnestly. "Brainiac is gone. J'onn and Batman even made sure of it. He's not in your head, and he's not in Backpack. You're safe," I assured him gently.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Tearing his hand out of mine to run it through his ruffled yellow locks, he said, "I'm not so sure. I had a dream last night in which Brainiac came back, and made me kill you. I had your blood on my hands, and I screamed in my head for Brainiac to stop, but he never did. Seeing that… in the dream, I gave up fighting. I let him take over because I couldn't live with myself any longer, knowing that my body murdered my best friend beyond my control. In the dream, I went totally _numb._" He was shaking with fiercer quakes. I stood beside him and placed my hand on his shoulder. "I never want to feel that way again. I seriously thought you were going to die, Virgil. When Brainiac trapped you and Batman in those coils, I thought he was going to kill you both while I sat, trapped, unable to do a thing. I heard you calling to me, saw you, but could barely move my head! I was _that_ powerless."

I wrapped both my arms around him, sliding across his back to grip his other shoulder as my opposite hand folded on top of my knuckles. "But I didn't die, Richie. None of us did. We lived through it, and destroyed Brainiac. He's gone for good now, bro. Lost to the depths of the bay where his octopus-wannabe ship sunk. 'S all good now, I swear."

His hands came up to grip my forearm, his fingers clenching tightly. They felt cold. "I want to believe that, V. I really do. But I think the paranoia wins over the logic this time."

Instinctively, I rested my head against the side of his. "Be strong, man. It was pretty trippy, but it's nothing we can't handle, right? We're superheroes."

He bit his lip. The biting looked hard enough to draw blood. "Not me. I'm not cut out for this. Not when…" he drifted off and pulled out of the embrace. "Never mind. Look, maybe I should go home, sleep this off some more. Or eat something; I skipped dinner last night, and breakfast and lunch today."

"You skipped a day's worth a meals?!" I exclaimed. I grabbed his arm. "Get over here." I dug a frozen burrito out of our freezer and shoved it at him. "Hold onto that for a sec." I aimed a beam of electricity at it, exciting the molecules like a microwave until it began to steam in Richie's hands. "Eat that. I'll grab you a root beer."

He unwrapped it, but his face turned into a grimace. "I dunno if I can, V… I feel sick."

"You feel sick 'cause you're overly hungry!" I scolded him as I handed him a cold can of root beer. "So eat it, and drink this. Doctor's orders. Then you're not going to go home until I convince you that everything's fine and you can at least poke one of the machines in here without jumping."

A weird smile briefly made it's way onto his lips. "You're too good to me, Virg."

"Damn straight," I snorted as I sat next to him on the dingy couch we jacked from the junk yard. He ate the burrito with more gusto once he got a taste of it. Then he chugged the soda, burping out the carbonation at the end. He wiped his mouth on his sweatshirt sleeve, and I patted his back twice. "There, see? Don't cha feel some strength comin' back to ya now?"

He laughed weakly. "Yeah, some," he agreed. Then his head hung again as he tossed the burrito wrapper to the floor. He sighed. "Why is this affecting me like this?"

It sounded like Richie already knew the answer, but wanted me to come up with an alternate one, because his own answer was something he didn't like. I try to come up with a logical explanation, knowing that if I pry for whatever he's thinking, he won't tell me. I put a hand to my chin in thought. "Hmm. Well, was super traumatizing. Think about it: you had shining silver parts encasing your body, you had another being rendering you helpless, and had to fight me when you didn't want to. I'd say you'd be inhuman for _not _reacting like this."

"You went through some of that too, V. Why aren't you bugged by it?" he wanted to know, his gaze turning on me.

I quickly looked away. I clasped my hands together in my lap. "I wasn't the one with the freakizoid in my skull. And…" My voice softened. "And I know that you're safe now, so there's nothing to worry about. It won't happen again."

"You were really worried about me, huh?" he said with that same weird smile.

"Of 'course I was, stupid!" I retorted as I smacked his arm. I didn't like the tone he used; it was a tag smug, as if he was gleeful about the fact that I was scared shitless over him. "I always worry about you! But it's not about me right now. It's about you. We need to fix you, or else my crime-fighting partner is going to be out-of-comish for a while, and everyone's gonna wonder, 'Hey, what happened to Gear?' and I'll be all like, 'Gee, I dunno. He has a run in with an alien computer and suddenly doesn't wanna fight by my side no more. Sorry.' And they'll either be outraged and demand that I get Gear to return, or they'll be all sweet about it, like, 'Oh, it's okay Static, we like you better anyway.'"

"Like hell they like you better," Richie scoffed as he hit me lightly with one of the mangy throw pillows o the couch. "They like us equally. At least, they did according to a poll I posted online. But who knows? Maybe they like me more than you now."

"As if," I huffed. An idea popped into my head about how I can trick him into touching technology again. "Why don't you prove it?"

His chest puffed out. "Alright, I will!" He stood, walked over to the computer, and then froze. He flinched. "On second thought… you can look it up yourself. I'll tell you the URL and –"

"Oh, don't be such a baby," I told the blond as I scooped up his rolling chair and slammed it into him. With an 'uwah!' springing from his mouth, he fell into it and I rolled him across the gas station to the computer. While it booted up, I made sure that he stayed where he was. "Come on, Rich, you have to get over this fear of yours. You're Gear, the technological whiz-kid! You can't be afraid of computers! They're part of who you are."

"There's more to me than that," Richie grunted as he crossed his arms. "Plenty more."

"I know," I replied as I pulled up an extra chair and sat in it backwards. "You're a comic book geek, too, like me. You watch Sci-Fi and Tim Burton movies, no matter how stupid or unpopular they are. You have Invader Zim in your DVD player almost at all times, and stay up late with me on weekends to watch cheesy slasher films, which you make fun of a lot better than I do, because you can scream like a girl better than I can." I smiled warmly at him. "There is a lot to you, more stuff than I can name. I'm not denying that. All I'm saying is, you're stronger than this, and yeah, you are cut out to be a superhero. You've had all the video-game-and-comic-book-based training that I have, and you're just as quick on your feet in a sticky situation. It was you who thought of using Backpack's remote control to stop Brainiac the second time, and an overload of music downloading the first time. You're amazing."

He was flushing profusely while the computer waited with the log-in screen up. "You seriously think all of that stuff?" he murmured softly. I think I flattered him with how much I knew, and the way I said it.

"Yeah, 'course," I shrug. "Why else would I say it?"

Richie glanced up at the log-in screen before timidly moving his fingers across the keyboard to type out his password. "I just didn't notice how well you know me. Like, really know me. It's a little scary," he laughed. I liked hearing his laugh, because it's sturdy tone was a sign that he was getting over his paranoia. "Virg," he said suddenly.

I scooted in closer to him. "What?"

He grinned. "I think I'm over my mild PTSD now. Thanks."

I clamped a hand over Richie's shoulder and squeezed. "No prob, man. I'd do anything for you; I hope you know that."

He blinked once, and dimly I hoped that he didn't catch the full meaning in my words. He smiled again, and then returned his gaze to the computer monitor. "Now then, how 'bout I show you who's boss in my poll?"

"G'head and show me, but I know that it's gonna be me."

He flashed a wicked smirk. "We'll see about that."

I bet he rigged the poll, because as soon as I saw it, I knew there was no way in hell that he had _that _many more ratings than me.

**END**


End file.
